The Lost One
by thegenuineimitation
Summary: Lies, secrets and prophecy...and Blood shall sing to Blood.
1. Chapter 1: A Dreamer is Born

**The Lost One**

**Chapter One: A Dreamer is Born**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels.

**Author's Note: **Greetings gentle readers and welcome to the Lost One, the merging of two of my all time favourite literary works. I feel that the cross is horribly under-represented and decided that I finally had enough plot to work with and to start posting. Here's hoping I can channel even a drop of Anne Bishop's genius into my writing.

With that in mind I feel it is my duty to inform you that this particular chapter has be re-worked at least 102 times. Let me know if it's too choppy.

**SPOILERS:** This fic will contain spoilers for the entire set of Black Jewels Novels this may eventually include Twilight's Dawn. If you haven't read all of the books you may be spoiled. You have been warned.

**WARNING:** As this is a cross for a very sensual, violent, dark fantasy novel you can expect things such as sexual themes, violence, torture, mutilation, death, coarse language, gore...etc. M-rated for a reason people!

Now, on to the story!

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**The Keep in Terrielle, July 23****rd****, Night**

Shira stopped and grit her teeth as another painful contraction gripped her, pain slashing across her lower back and abdomen. Her short nails dug into her palms leaving yet another line of little purple crescent moons.

"It won't be long now," soothed the apprentice midwife pausing in her bustle to rub the young mother-to-be's back gently.

"It will be long enough," Shira panted continuing her slow walking lap of the room one gruelling step at a time.

Trina laughed a little as she prepared towels and blankets.

Shira had taken a guest room in the public area of the Keep in Terrielle for the duration of her pregnancy in order to hide it from pretty much everyone. The only other people who knew the truth of her condition was her friend Trina, who was helping her through the birth, and the Keep's Seneschal, Draca.

As far as her family was concerned she was taking time off to practice and do research for her music. After she had refused the suit of Peyton SaDiablo they simply believed she was too distraught by the difficulty of her decision to turn down the marriage proposal of a powerful well connected Warlord Prince, or perhaps that she was a little unsure that said grey-jewelled Warlord Prince would abide by Protocol and let her be when he was so clearly madly in love with her. They were of the mind that a break while it might hurt her a bit financially would be the best thing for her in the long run. Shira also suspected they were glad to be rid of her moody sighing and crying.

They had no idea she was pregnant and neither did Peyton even though he was the father. He couldn't know. None of them could know, she would not put her child or her family in danger by having them know about each other. The SaDiablos were not a family to cross and in deciding to keep the child she had most certainly crossed them.

She screamed suddenly as a contraction caught her unprepared and in the middle of her musings. Instinctively her muscles clenched and she pushed, trying to expel Peyton's child from her body. It was a mark of his power that despite the brews she took religiously against conception he had still managed to plant his seed. Shira halfway suspected Peyton had stopped taking his own brews well into their relationship because he would have been ecstatic to rear a child by her and with her.

"Trina," she hissed in warning as she felt the contractions intensify.

"Come now Shira, I've got the bath all ready for you," Trina cooed helping her into the small tub.

Shira had just settled herself into the comfortably warm water when another stronger contraction took hold and she became a slave to the ancient motions of childbirth.

It didn't take more than a few minutes for the child to be born and Shira slumped tiredly in the tub of lukewarm and bloody water, exhausted despite the relative ease of the delivery, while Trina cut the cord with a bit of Craft and washed the blood from its body as it squalled. The young midwife wrapped the child carefully in the fine white blanket cooing softly and it quieted.

"It's a boy, Shira, a fine healthy son," beamed Trina setting the child down in the prepared little cradle and helping the musician out of the tub washing her with new, clean water bundling her up in a soft black robe and settling her into the massive bed.

"Oh, I ache," she moaned as she lay back against the pillows and let Trina activate the small healing web that would ease her recovery.

"You had it very easy Shira. I've never seen a babe born so easily to someone with a jewel rank darker than Tiger's-Eye, and your son is so adorable,"

"Bring him here Trina," Shira ordered quietly, "I want to hold him,"

The midwife did as she asked with the happy sigh of one who has a particular fondness for small children and none of her own.

"Here you are, mind his head," she instructed.

Shira shifted slightly getting the warm weight of the child situated.

"What is his name?" she asked with a warm smile as she bustled about clean.

As Shira held her son in her arms awkwardly and looked down into his trusting baby blue eyes that were the same as every child of her race, thanking the Darkness that she couldn't see even a hint of his father in his wrinkled formless baby features, no gold in his eyes, light skin and though his hair was black so was hers. Shira let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and considered Trina's question. She felt that her son deserved this one gift from her at least, a token of his heritage to carry with him after she gave him up, and she thought very carefully before she bestowed it.

"His name is Graeson Moray," she said quietly, "Can I have a minute alone with him, Trina?" she asked.

"Of course, just let me know if you need anything,"

"Thank you,"

Trina left quietly shutting the door behind her and Shira wished fervently that there was some way she could erase the woman's memory.

"What am I going to do with you, Graeson Moray SaDiablo?" Shira asked the child.

She loved Peyton she really did but, she wasn't good enough for his family, not for the Hekatah and certainly not for the High Lord. If he knew there was a child…

A familiar frisson of fear ran up her spine.

Peyton and his family weren't Blood like the rest of the Realm was Blood, they were something else entirely. All that dark power was certainly enough to take the child and do whatever they wanted to it and as the ruling family in Dhemlan they wouldn't even have to pay a price. There would be no stopping them, and, as Warlord Princes in the grips of a fury, no reasoning with them. Even though she wasn't thrilled about the unplanned complication of a child before marriage she certainly didn't want Graeson to die and to be honest after nine months of carrying him and playing for him and thinking only of his future she was also reluctant to give him up to a surrogate family.

If they knew about him they would kill her son, she was sure, she'd tainted their bloodline, they wouldn't let that be. They couldn't let that be. As soon as they knew…

Shira choked on a sob. The baby whimpered.

"Hush, it's alright little one, it's going to be fine," she lied, tears streaming down her face.

That was why she'd made absolutely sure as few people as humanly possible had known about her pregnancy. The SaDiablos were a powerful family with connections in all the Realms, and a chance encounter with someone who recognized her and the fact that she'd most recently been with Peyton could spell death for her child. Hellfires, even the Keep's own librarian, Geoffrey, was good friends with the High Lord.

What was she supposed to do? Maybe she should have just rid herself of the child when she first knew about her pregnancy, before he was actually a person. She felt horrible just thinking about the possibility.

"I'm sorry," she told the baby, "This isn't the kind of world I wanted you to grow up in,"

The baby whimpered and cried nuzzling his face against her breasts which were heavy and sore and full of milk.

She closed her eyes but could still see him a tiny new-bright flicker without a color above the rank of White. Even she who was no match in power for any of the SaDiablo family, and weak and drained of strength from childbirth, could snuff that tiny light with the barest strain.

As she moved to open her eyes and feed her child something caught her mind razor sharp barbs catching and ensnaring it with brutal efficiency. The Weaving was exquisite, a pretty trap to snare the unwary, it didn't pain her and yet she could sense that if she tried to free herself she would regret it. The weaving carried with it the promise for pain and she knew in an instant who the Weaver must be.

_Beware the golden spider who Weaves a Tangled Web._

The words came back to her as clear now as onthe day she'd heard them spoken, words she'd been warned with by the Black Widow who had taught her sister her Craft, a warning Lyra had made a point of passing on to every apprentice she had trained since then. Her memories flooded her mind with the haunting song of mystery and danger that told of death and magic and prophecies.

Arachna was an island in Kaeleer, an island wreathed in invisible barbed cobwebs and populated by Blood spiders, Kindred, spiders that did not welcome Outsiders and who did not leave their Island home.

*You will not destroy this one Music Lover, you cannot destroy this one, but neither can you rear him*

Shira could see with her physical body that a gleaming golden spider about the size of a fist, not including her long delicate legs, had descended from the ceiling and was now standing on top of the newborn who was still whimpering and fussing.

*He is my son, it is my right to do with him as I choose, and there is no law that says I must inform the father or his family that I bore him a child,* Shira replied, carefully easing her psychic thread around the trap that held her mind.

*He was spun from our Dreams, he must live, if you wish to do the same you will not stop me,*

*What use have you for a human child?*

*He will be a Dreamer, we must hide him from the Tainted Priestess so he may grow to Dream,*

*You will make sure he is safe?*

*Yes, the child will be safe,*

The young green-jewelled Weaver of Dreams carefully activated the latent spell woven into her mind-trap implanting the memory of the child being born unbreathing just as she had done to the midwife, and the witch's body went lax as she fell into forced and fitful sleep. The young green eyed musician wouldn't remember the Arachnan Queen or her living child. Her mind would glaze and fog with grief and loss and by the time she recovered from the sorrow the memories would be faded and shut away.

The Weaver of Dreams left the room air-walking and towing the child behind her as she made for the Gate. A sight, psychic, and aural shield snapped up around her and the infant. She was very protective of this child who had been made with good Dreams, Dreams she had helped to Weave into the flesh.

At the Gate, barring her way, stood one known to all the Weavers of Dreams, Draca.

*Jussst what do you think you are doing?* asked the woman with the reptillian cast to her features and the silibant hiss in her voice raising one eyebrow at the golden spider, her perceptions apparently unaffected by the green-strength shields.

*He is mine,* the young Queen told the Dragon Mother settling herself possessively over the squirming babe.

*You cannot keep him sssafe little Queen,* said Draca sadly.

*He is a Dream, and he will be a Dreamer, he must live,* the Queen said agitatedly.

*He isss not Dreamsss-Made-Flesh,* Draca pointed out.

*No, only Witch can be Dreams-Made-Flesh, the flesh was there, we tied the flesh that came to the Dreams that were, many Dreams, good Dreams from loyal Dreamers,*

*Hekatah knowsss of him, she fearsss him and the potential power he holdssss. She will not sssstop until she isss sssure he isss dead or under her control,*

*We will hide him from the Tainted One,* insisted the spider Queen stubbornly.

*She will find him, do not underessstimate her powersss or her ressourcesss you musssssst ssssend him to a place she cannot follow,*

With that Draca lit the long black tapers standing in the candelabra that stood by the Gate in the wrong order to go any of the Realms. The Weaver of Dreams looked on in confusion.

*The fourth mussst be lit by Craft, by a Black Widow,* Draca explained.

The final candle burst into flame, and to the spider's surprise a Gate opened.

*Where does it lead?* she asked curiously.

*To a Realm that did not have a connection to the Darknesssssss until one of the Blood, a Red-Jewelled Warlord Prince called Zeussss, forced it to open and accept hissssss village, in the face of certain death he sssssaved them all, but the Way wasssssss never mean to be open and sssssssso the Black Widow Hera that wassss hissss wife sssssssealed it with a Tangled Web sssssso it could not be opened again from thisssss ssssssssside unlessss by a Black Widow who knew the ssssssecret of her husssband'sss work,*

Draca picked up the baby ignoring the spider Queen's agitated scuttling and gently slid him across the polished stone through the Gate.

*Will he be safe?* asked the Weaver of Dreams

*Ssssafer, I think then if put at the mercy of hissss grandmother,* Draca replied.

*Will he come back? He must come back! The Dream, Witch! She needs him, he will be a Dreamer!* the young spider realized suddenly the mistake she had made.

*Perhapssss he will find the way,* Draca said unconcernedly walking back into the Keep.

The one who was once the Queen of Dragons and the one who had gifted the strength of her kind to the ones who were now called the Blood glided unnoticed into the Keep's impressive library, easily avoiding the Librarian, Geoffrey, carefully she removed the appropriate record from the appropriate shelf and she carefully penned a name into the book, blowing on the ink gently to allow it to dry before shutting it and replacing it.

*May the Darknesss embrace you, Graessson Moray SssssaDiablo,*

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**AN: **And there you have it. If you're confused as to what's going on in the above chapter, send me a review or PM or you can check out Dreams Made Flesh (if you haven't done so already I highly recommend it!) I'm referencing page 108-110 in The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih.

This is meant to be the first part of a sort of two part prologue, so the chapters should definitely get longer as the story progresses.

For those of you **waiting for updates on my other stories**...I'm sorry, I cannot 'elp it eet eez zee creme filling! But, I'm working on the next chapters of both Harry Prewett and The Reading, chapter 7 of the Courting Games is up, and I am in the final round of editing for the next chapter of Legacy.

Please review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2: Of Death and Prophecy

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Two: Of Death and Prophecy**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Trilogy

**Author's Note: **Hey two chapters in one night! Go me! Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert or fave. Now on to the story!

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**Godric's Hollow, October 31****st**** 1981, Night**

It was a cool night in Godric's Hollow, the wind blew with the scent of snow behind it, cutting through layers like they were tissue paper and stealing the warmth from the very bones of those who ventured outside.

Lily, James, and Baby Harry were enjoying a quiet Halloween at home.

Lily Potter smiled and popped a little muggle candy bar into her mouth, chewing slowly to savour the treat as she watched her boys playing with Magical Moulding Clay in various bright colors. James was making a valiant attempt at actual moulding while Harry watched and occasionally stuck his left hand in one or another of the squishy piles of clay all the while happily chewing on the end of the liquorice wand clutched in his right.

She hadn't been at all sure that James would agree to care for the little screaming bundle Lily had found lying in front of the Veil of Death just fifteen short months ago. They had, after all, decided that a war torn world was no world into which they wanted to bring a child, but James had taken to him famously. Declaring that the child had to be protected and that it was clearly meant to be them who were to be doing the protecting.

Lily hadn't realized just how badly her husband had wanted a child until the first time James had fallen asleep with Harry on his chest. It clenched her heart to know that Harry wasn't theirs by blood, but she vowed to give her son the best family possible, and to give her husband sons and daughters of his bloodline.

Lily had woven powerful glamour charms into experimental potions until finally she had achieved the right combination, creating a lotion that, when applied three times a day for several months, would ensure that the already black-haired green-eyed child would resemble James as he grew up. All the Potter males looked rather alike; each was practically a twin of the other, so this was necessary since, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Harry was their son by birth.

Lily even staged a home birth so that Sirius and Remus, the Godfather and Honorary Uncle, could be in attendance. Heck, Lily had even written to inform her estranged sister Petunia about baby Harry. They had worried for a little while that the child wouldn't be magical, that it was a squib or a kidnapped muggle babe that would have a tough time of it growing up with magical parents but little Harry was practically bursting with magic often making things float or changing their colors to suit his many and varied whims.

Then their Headmaster had brought them and their friends Alice and Frank Longbottom and their young son Neville to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and told them about the prophecy, the prophecy that Voldemort already knew half of. The prophecy that stated Neville Longbottom would be the one to defeat the Dark Lord. Not that anyone except Lily and James knew that for certain.

Lily shook her head to clear it of such dark thoughts.

"Okay now Harry, can you say Padfoot?" asked James as he moulded the clay into a rough dog.

"Haweee!" declared the child clapping his hands.

"Are you sure he's not your son? He certainly has your ego," Lily commented coming to join them.

"Mama!" cried Harry delightedly reaching for her hair.

"My dear Tiger Lily, how you wound me with your cruel and thoughtless insults!" James declared dramatically clutching at his chest.

Lily rolled her eyes and focussed on her son.

"Don't worry darling, I'll make sure you don't end up like your poor father, I'm afraid he is just too far gone in his ridiculousness, but we can still save you," she confided before blowing a raspberry into his tummy and causing him to shriek in delight.

"We should have invited Sirius and Remus," sighed James regretfully a smirk twitching in the corner of his mouth as he watched his young son wave his liquorice wand around in imitation of his mother.

"It's too dangerous James," Lily repeated with a sigh.

"I know, and I agree, but I miss them,"

Lily kissed him chastely on the cheek.

"I know but by doing this we are keeping everyone safer," she said.

"Yes we are," James said scooping up little Harry who giggled and squealed delightedly, "Because, you aren't 'born to' us, but nobody else knows that thanks to your clever Mummy, so the Dark Dick will spend the rest of the war chasing after you, the adorable little decoy, while we keep you safe as houses under the Fidelius Charm and everyone else will be safe too because old Mouldy-Shorts will be too busy trying to find you to attack them! It's brrrrrilliant!"

Harry clapped his hands delightedly.

"Dada!" he declared.

"James, watch your language," Lily scolded him.

"Aw, c'mon Lils, he's only one, he doesn't understand what the heck I'm saying. Watch,"

James blew a raspberry into Harry's belly sending the toddler in fits of squirming giggles.

"How many eggs does it take to screw in a light bulb, my one eyed one horned flying purple people eater?" James asked his face serious.

"Dada!" Harry exclaimed.

"See there you have it, ACK! Harry!" James complained as the only thing that saved him from an eye poking was his glasses.

Lily laughed aloud.

"Good boy Harry, you give Dada the what for!" she cooed.

"Mama!"

Little Harry gurgled happily as his Dada relinquished him to his Mama and he snuggled up against her, warm and entirely content to wrap his grubby hand in her long red tresses and bury his nose in the crook of her neck still sucking and gnawing on his candy wand.

"How do you do that?" James demanded.

Lily shrugged, "He likes my hair,"

"Yes, but it's completely unfair that..." James paused and his head swung around to face the front of the cottage so fast Lily was surprised he didn't get whiplash.

"James?"

"It's him,"

"The wards..." Lily started pulling out her wand.

"He tripped the alert ward but he's just walking through the others," James growled.

"Peter! Peter's the spy?"

"I'll tear that rat bastard limb from limb, and then let Sirius have him, and then lock whatever's left in with Remus during full moon," James snarled viciously.

"I can..."

The door shuddered as the magical locks and reinforcements strained under Voldemort's assault.

"There's no time, take Harry and go, I'll hold him off!"

"James!" Lily protested.

James kissed her quickly.

"He was sent to us to protect, get him to the Order," he said into her hair.

The door cracked.

"I love you,"

"I love you too, now go!"

Lily ran up the stairs clutching a still but alert Harry to her tightly. The door exploded inward sending bits of wood flying everywhere. Lily threw up a Shield Charm that kept the debris off her back and, pausing at the top of the stairs to grab a handful of Floo Powder from the extra James kept in a pot in the cupboard there. She ran to her and James' room, the only room upstairs with a fireplace.

She threw open the door only to find the room was already filled with Death Eaters. One she recognized as Peter, another was certainly Lucius Malfoy.

"Traitor!" she shrieked at the rat.

"Now, now, none of that," Lucius crooned wickedly as she let the Floo powder spill all over the carpet and raised her wand, raising his own in return.

Lily cursed violently and with a few muttered words and a wand wave quickly reversed the locking and silencing ward she had set on the room for her and James' privacy while Sirius was still staying over more often than not and, slamming the door behind her, ran down the hall to Harry's nursery. There were tears in her eyes as she saw the flash of green light and felt in her heart that James was gone. She slammed the door of the nursery and set up a quick locking and shielding ward.

A flick of her wand blew the window out of its frame.

"Accio!" she cried.

James' broom was leaning against the shed on the far side of the field that served as their Quidditch Pitch behind the house. It began zooming towards them, but just like the front door, the nursery door exploded in a shower of woodchips. Lily turned, shielding her son from the rain of debris, and quickly set Harry under his own shield on the floor between her and his crib and taking a quick steadying breath she turned to face the Dark Lord.

Skeletal and pale with blood red eyes and slits for pupils, the Dark Lord let out a high, cold, cruel laugh and raised his wand.

Now Lily Potter was not an Unspeakable for the Department of Mysteries for nothing. She and James were both expert duellers and had managed to escape the Dark Lord's wrath with their skill thrice now. She threw two stunners in quick succesion before she was forced to duck and roll under jet of purple light. She rolled to her feet and snarled out the incantation for a particularly nasty bone breaker curse, bobbing and weaving as the Dark Lord lazily cast spells meant to injure and maim. Unable to understand why he didn't just kill her Lily pressed her attack with a bludgeoning hex, a blood draining spell, a jinx that would fuse the vertebrae in his spine, an overpowered cutting curse and a jet of white hot fire, but the Dark Lord blocked, dodged, shielded and dispelled them with contemptuous ease. The rest of the duel was pitifully short as he overwhelmed her defences with sheer raw power.

"Stand aside you foolish girl!"

"No!" Lily cried as she was disarmed.

He advanced, not on her but on the baby. Lily's eyes widened in sudden realization, the Prophecy, he was going to try and kill her baby!

"No! Not Harry! Please anything but that!"

She leapt at him blinded by tears, her hands twisted into ineffectual claws. He banished her wandlessly and she hit the wall hard, a sharp snap and the sudden blossoming of agonizing pain in her side signalled that the impact had broken one or more ribs. Once again she crawled between him and her adopted son.

"Please not Harry!" she begged as she coughed up blood, "Have mercy, he is just a child!"

"You sorely try my patience, Avada Kedavra!" snarled the Dark Lord.

The body of Lily Potter fell limp still in front of Harry and her shield charm flickered out, the broom waiting by the hole in the nursery wall where the window had been fell to the ground below.

Harry didn't cry. He watched the Dark Lord with his fathomless green eyes, the only feature not disguised by Lily's complex glamour lotion. Voldemort kicked Lily's body aside, his lip curling faintly in distaste, and stared down at the baby arrogantly.

"So you are the one prophesized to defeat me, join your mudblood mother and your blood traitor father in oblivion child, Avada Kedavra!"

The room flashed with green light and Harry screamed as the curse hit him forcing its way through his inner barriers and sending him hurtling into his own mind. Harry, even at this young age, knew instinctively he didn't want to be forced by the green light and so he pushed back wanting the light to go away.

The Killing Curse seemed to rebound off Harry's forehead and struck Voldemort full on with the force of the child's will behind it. Voldemort's body was destroyed and his mind was shattered but there was not enough power behind the attack to finish the kill and Voldemort's power, enhanced by crude rituals and sacrifices, ensured that the so called Dark Lord's spirit endured. It screamed a horrible echoing scream and fled the house vanishing into the forest.

Anti-apparation wards collapsed and the house shook with the intensity of the magical backlash. Lucius, having finally escaped from the Potters' bedroom, ordered Crouch Jr. to set the house afire with a quick 'Incendio,' to make absolutely sure the Potters were dead and the Death Eaters fled the site of their Lord's defeat.

It took only a few minutes more for Sirius to appear in the nursery looking half-wild with a bubble-head charm over his nose and mouth to keep from inhaling the smoke.

"Seewee!" cried Harry lifting his arms in the universal command for up!

Sirius obliged scooping Harry up and squeezing him tightly.

"Harry, thank Merlin, you're safe," he said as he half-choked back a sob before casting a bubble-head charm on the tot and apparating out of the house.

Most kids didn't like the sensation of apparation at all, but Harry was not most kids and once out of the smoky, hot house he curled up against his godfather and buried his face in Sirius' shirt, a threadbare grey cotton t-shirt that had been his pyjama top of choice for about four years, and cried quietly. Harry understood, with an intrinsic piece of his being, that his Mama and Dada would not be coming back and that the one who had killed them was gone too.

Then with a deafening crack and a bit of smoke Rubeus Hagrid appeared.

"Oh no, Sirius, Lily n' James?"

"They're dead, Hagrid,"

"An' Harry?"

"Right here," Sirius said gently wiping a bit of blood from the fresh cut on his forehead, a cut that was already beginning to scar, with the pad of his thumb.

His hand was shaking and he was as white a fresh fallen snow.

"I've got orders from Dumbledore ter take 'im ter his Aunt n' Uncle's," Hagrid warned.

"I'm his godfather, I'll take care of him," Sirius said shaking his head.

"With You-Know-Who's supporters runnin' about tryin' ter get revenge; he'll be safer with the Muggles, where nobody knows 'im,"

"You think that a trained Auror couldn't do better than a bunch of Muggles at keeping him safe?" growled Sirius.

Harry stirred.

"Seewee!" he whimpered.

"It's alright, Harry, it's going to be fine, you're going to come home with me, I'm going to keep you safe,"

"James was a trained Auror too, an' pardon my sayin' so but he's jus' as dead," said Hagrid gently.

"I promised them, I promised that if anything happened I would take care of Harry," Sirius protested, but his resolve was weakening.

"You don' know anything abou' babies I reckon,"

"Remy'll help me,"

"An' the Ministry o' Magic won' let a known werewolf near 'im. He's a hero, by this time tomorrow every wizard living will know his name,"

Sirius thought about this for a long moment. Maybe he couldn't protect Harry, but he could hunt down the Rat who betrayed Lily and James, Sirius could hunt him down and make him pay for his betrayal, for the lives he stole.

"Alright Hagrid," Sirius agreed reluctantly handing over the precious bundle.

"Seewee!" protested Harry.

"I'm going to make it safe for you, Harry, you go with Hagrid, for now," Sirius said smoothing the thick crop of black hair away from his forehead and planting a kiss on the angry red scar on his forehead.

"I'll take good care o' him Sirius, no' teh worry,"

"Take my bike, it has a seat for Harry, and a hundred different safety charms, I won't be needing it anymore," Sirius said darkly.

He knew where the rat was hiding, in the sewers.

Sirius gave Hagrid a brief lesson on how to fly the motorbike, made sure Harry was safely tucked in and watched them fly away before he shifted into his Animagus form and started hunting the traitorous Wormtail.

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**AN:** And there's chapter two, here endeth the prologue! Hopefully that wasn't too much of a jump for you guys.

I had a lot of fun writing Lily and James and am pleased overall with how the chapter progressed, I always thought that Lily should have gone down fighting rather than begging after all she was an Order Member and had escaped the Dark Lord three times plus she was fiesty as a school girl and heralded as one of the brightest witches of her age!

The next couple of chapters will be like this, time jumps that give you snapshots into Harry/Graeson's childhood and first few years at Hogwarts. If there's anything you'd like to see let me know, I'm always happy to try and incorporate your suggestions.

Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3: A Voice in the Dark

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Three: A Voice in the Dark**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels.

**Author's Note:** First of all thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted, or favourited, glad you guys are enjoying it so far! Next of all go forth and read...

Edit: I fixed the explanation about the castes, sorry for any confusion!

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**Number Four Privet Dr, July 31st 1988, Night**

Harry lay in his cupboard staring up at the ceiling trying desperately not to fall asleep. It was hard, he was tired and sore from working outside, he'd eaten a full meal at dinner, the Dursleys' one kindness for his birthday, and the warm soft darkness of his cupboard was comforting.

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me..." he sung absently to himself stiffling a yawn with his hand mid-verse.

Harry had always had strange dreams and they had never bothered before. For the past few nights though when he closed his eyes he'd be hovering within a yawning pit of darkness that he could feel pressing all around him. There would be a sort of tickling on his brain, and Harry would jerk away from it and start to fall feeling the pressure increase to pain and start to crack his mind and then all of a sudden he'd wake up but the feeling of pain and fragility remained.

It scared him to think that one night he might break himself without ever meaning to. He wasn't even sure how a person could break themself but he was sure that if he wasn't careful it would happen to him.

His eyes fluttered shut and Harry snapped them open with some difficulty. He was just so tired. His brain felt like it was sliding forward in his head making it harder and harder to form coherent thoughts. He would close his eyes, just for a second to catch his second wind.

Harry was fighting a losing battle almost as soon as his eyes shut he was back in the dark place, floating precariously at the top of a long shaft. There was the same nudging tickling in the back of his brain but Harry held himself still not wanting to take that plunge into the abyss below again.

*So you've finally stopped shying, young one. I must confess I am relieved, you might have done yourself some serious damage, hurtling into the Abyss like that,*

The voice was deep and echoing but also strained and a bit unclear like it was coming through a phone with bad reception.

"Who are you?" asked Harry looking around.

All he could see was matte blackness wherever he looked and the voice didn't seemed to be coming from one particular place it was more like it was coming from everywhere.

*I am called Lorn,*

Harry thought that a very strange name but thought it impolite to say so. The voice chuckled deep and rumbling.

*My mind is within your mind, Lost One, your thoughts are as clear to me as a rainbow in Hell,*

"Oh," said Harry not really understanding but not really concerned about it, this was after all a dream and his dreams had always been odd.

*Dreams are strange things, they are not quite fantasy and not quite reality. This is not a dream so much as it is your mind's created place to give physical form to your thread in the Abyss. This place is a visualization but I am real and you are real and everything I tell you is true,*

"What's the Abyss?" Harry asked curiously.

*The Abyss is where all life stems from, it is the all encompassing Darkness from which we come and it is where we return after death. If you fall from here it is where you fall into,*

Harry looked down and thought that abyss was a good name for what was below him and around him but strangely he wasn't afraid of it. Just of what he might accidentally do to himself.

"Why does it hurt when I fall into it?" he asked curiously.

*This thread in the Abyss is your own, but you are not ready to come into your Birthright strength yet. Look below you again,*

Harry did squinting down into the Darkness below. He spared a moment to wonder how he could see a thing without his glasses and then remembered that this was a dream, sort of. Below him he could just make out the faint glowing outline of a net stretching across the thread.

"It's a glowing white web, like a spider's web, but not quite the same,"

*Kindred but not kind, as the Blood are to their mother races, so this web is to the web of a normal spider. What you are seeing, young one, is the rank of White. The first level of Jewelled strength one of the Blood can wield,*

"Excuse me, sir, but you keep saying things like Blood and strength like they should mean something different from what they normally mean, so what exactly do you mean?"

Harry felt more than he heard the rumbling chuckle. It vibrated through his mind soothingly and gave Harry the impression a body much bigger than his own.

*Listen then, to your history, young one, and remember. Long before your ancestors were born and long before that the Dragons were the caretakers of the Realms. Aware of the Darkness that spawned all life and to which all life returned. A vastness that was outside the body, yet the body, mind, and the spirit became a vessel for the power of it. The Dragon race lived long and ruled well exploring the chasms and abysses that made up the place that was not a place and knowing that they would never understand it. As with all things bound to time, however, the Dragon race was not meant to last forever and when their time came they faced the problem of how to ensure that the Realms that were their protectorate would be cared for. Your race's farthest ancestors were just coming into their minds when the Queen of Dragons made her last flight. The witchstorm raged across all three Realms for days and as the Queen circled the skies she shed her Dragon flesh and scales and whatever they touched became as the Dragon race had been. Kindred to their mother races, but not kind. As like calls to like, it was the females of the races that were changed. They were given the power to reach the Darkness but their small bodies could not be a vessel for the power the way a Dragon body could. So when the Dragons curled up in the hollows of the Black Mountain that was the lair of the Prince of Darkness and of the Queen and their minds returned to the Darkness the scales that covered their massive bodies changed into the Jewels. The reservoirs for the strength of the Darkness that could not be contained within the body, and those from each race touched by the Queen's gift were named the Blood as it was Queen's blood that gave them their strength and their new purpose. It took many generations for the strength of the Blood to breed true and when it did the Blood were able to slide into the Darkness and were granted their Birthrights. It was only years later that they learned to heed the call of the Darkness and to submit to the judgement of the caretakers that had returned to the Abyss for the chance to deepen their strength,*

"So…since I can see the Abyss, I'm one of the Blood?" asked Harry after a long moment.

*You are, young one,*

"But I'm not old enough to get my Birthright, my…Jewel?"

*That is correct. Your vessel is not ready to handle even you Birthright strength, first you must grow,*

"Alright, but, sir, who else is Blood? How can I tell?"

*Blood will sing to Blood, young one, when you meet on of the Blood you will know them for what they are. You will not find many in your Realm, if there are any left at all,*

"What, why not? What do you mean by my Realm?"

*The Blood Realms, where the caretakers rule and protect, are Terrielle, the Light Realm, Kaeleer, the Shadow Realm, and Hell, the Twilight Realm. The Realm where you reside has but one connection to the Darkness that birthed it, the Last Gate,*

"The Last Gate?"

*Yes, the Last Gate, is a portal created by a Warlord Prince by the name of Zeus, in order to save his village from annihilation he created a Gate spell that ripped a hole through the barriers of space and time that hold your Realm apart from ours allowing it access to the three Blood Realms. But Hera, the Black Widow Queen who was his wife saw that this Realm had nothing and no one to protect it from the exploitation of the Blood Realms and sealed the way with a Tangled Web. Now those who wish to pass through it may only easily do so from your side, and Zeus' peoples have all returned to the Darkness. If there is any descendant who could wield Jewelled strength they are most likely as you are, confused and ignorant of their heritage,*

"Oh," said Harry a bit overwhelmed by all this new information and trying to make sense of it all.

Questions chased themselves around his brain like dogs chasing cats and cats chasing mice, until it was one big cacophony.

*Let me tell you more about the Jewels in a way you will perhaps understand more clearly,* suggested Lorn his voice cutting smoothly through the din that comprised Harry's thoughts.

"Okay," agreed Harry glad for something concrete to focus on.

*There are thirteen ranks of Jewelled strength and each of these thirteen ranks is represented by the colour of the Jewel. The first rank is, as I have said, White then Yellow, Tiger Eye, Rose, Summer Sky, and Purple Dusk make up the lighter Jewel ranks. Opal, which is the next Jewel rank, is the dividing line between the lighter and darker Jewel ranks and as such can be either. After Opal comes Green, then Sapphire, Red, Grey, Ebon Grey and finally Black. There is a range of strength within each Jewel rank, what this means is that if two Opal Jewelled Warlords pitted their strength against each other they would not necessarily be equally matched in power. After reaching full growth and maturity the Jewelled Blood are called to face the judgement of the caretakers that came before them those strong in body, mind, and will may descend up to three Jewel ranks in a ceremony called the Offering to the Darkness. The Offering may only be made at one time and after the call has faded there will be no second chance,*

"Let me just see if I have this right, if I have an Opal Jewel for my Birthright, I could have a Red Jewel when I'm fully grown,"

*Yes, or you might wear Green or Sapphire, or perhaps simply a darker Opal, it depends on a number of factors,*

"Okay, and the darker rank your Jewel is, that means the more power that the body can't hold but that the vessel can channel from the Abyss, right?"

Lorn hummed in approval.

*That is correct, young one, the vessel is not, after all, just the body it is also the mind and the spirit, the Self,*

"Alright, I think I understand that bit, but some of the words you use are strange, like why do you call people Warlords or Queens, what does that have to do with anything?" asked Harry.

*I refer to them by their castes,*

"Castes? What's a caste?" asked Harry rolling the unfamiliar word around on his tongue.

*You may think of it a bit like being born with a particular talent, a being's caste determines the role he or she will take in Blood society and the protection of the Realms. The castes are also gender specific. In Blood law and Protocol, the checks and balances that keep the Blood from destroying each other, castes play a very important role,*

"I still don't understand," sighed Harry annoyed.

Lorn's chuckled rumbled through him again.

*Patience, young one, I will explain. The term Blood male or Blood female refers to any person of either gender who is Blood, it can also be used to indicate a person who doesn't wear Jewels. A witch is a Blood female who does wear Jewels, and her male counterpart is a Warlord. A witch with the natural affinity or training to dispel illness and mend wounds of the flesh is called a Healer and a witch who cares for the sacred places, the Dark Altars and sanctuaries and witnesses handfasts and marriages is called a Priestess. She also conducts the Offerings, both the Birthright Ceremony and the Offering to the Darkness. A Prince is a male equal in status to a Healer or a Priestess they tend to make good Stewards, they offer sound advice and tend to have good leadership qualities. A Black Widow is a witch who heals the mind, they walk the roads of the Twisted Kingdom and spin their Tangled Webs to see things that the others of the Blood cannot, they are trained in illusions and poisons and are not females to be crossed. A Warlord Prince is a male with status slightly lower than a Queen and they are the highest ranking male caste, and a volatile one at best. Warlord Princes are ruled by their instincts, violently passionate and passionately violent they enforce the laws of the land and protect the rest of the Blood, they are the warrior caste and those most drawn to form a bond with a witch. A Queen is the highest ranking caste among the Blood, Queens have a strong bond with the land and the people that they rule, they make the laws and mete out judgement for those who break those laws, they care for the earth and give of themselves to enrich the land. She is the heart of the Blood and its moral centre and as such she is the focal point of our society,*

Harry did his best to absorb all the information, interested beyond belief but reeling from the sheer volume of what he'd learned.

"I have no idea how I'm going to remember all of this," Harry muttered.

*Write it down,* suggested Lorn, *Perhaps you are not the only one in your Realm who will benefit from the information,*

Harry nodded.

*I must leave you now, young one, the reach is long and my strength is not what it once was, remember all I have told you,*

Harry felt the presence withdrawing from his mind a reached out quickly.

*Wait!* he exclaimed mentally.

Lorn paused in his withdrawal.

*Will I ever see you again?* Harry asked.

*Do not worry, young one, there is much I still have to tell you, you will see me many more times,* Lorn assured him.

*Thank you,* breathed Harry.

He felt Lorn gently break their link and glide away through the Abyss until the only thing Harry could sense was himself.

"Drat, I forgot to ask him how to get out of here," sighed Harry to himself.

He glanced around looking for some kind of clue, he really didn't want to go hurtling into the Abyss in hopes that the pain would wake him, that was too dangerous. Harry thought about the problem. He always went down, deeper into the Abyss. So maybe instead of going down to the Abyss he needed to go up and out of it?

Harry looked up. Far above him was a faint pinprick of light, that was where he wanted to go he was sure of it. Even as he thought it the pinprick began to grow larger and larger and Harry realized he was rising out of the Abyss on his will to reach the light above him. Crowing in triumph he propelled himself up faster until his eyes popped open to the familiar dim light of his cupboard in the early morning.

He blinked the sleep crust from his eyes and rolled over to stare at his cobwebby ceiling grinning like a fool even as Aunt Petunia began pounding at his door shrieking at him to wake up. For once in his life he wasn't boy, freak, weirdo, today and every day after he was a part of something greater than himself. Kindred to his relatives but not kind.

He was Blood.

* * *

**AN:** Alright, I took a few creative liberties with Black Jewels canon here because there is so little information about the origins of the Blood and the actual steps of the ceremonies and things like that. Let me know if they don't make sense or are just plain confusing.

Hope you all enjoyed, please review and let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4: Differences

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Four: Differences**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the wait and the shortness of this particular chapter, next chapter will be up soon and will be significantly longer. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited! Now on to the story.

* * *

**Hogwarts, September 5th 1991, Morning**

Harry was still having a difficult time believing that he was a wizard despite the fact that he was now sitting in his first Transfiguration class of the year in a magical school with a bunch of others who were apparently like him, holding a magic wand of all things.

It was just; everything that Hagrid insisted was magic could and in fact had been explained away by Harry and Lorn as craft. Common sense said that they couldn't both be right and Harry would lay money that he was a Warlord Prince rather than a wizard. He'd seen the Abyss, used craft, spoken mind to mind with Lorn, all he'd done as a wizard so far was go shopping, make a disaster area of Ollivander's wand shop before he found a wand that didn't reject him on principle and put on a hat that thought he was brave and sly.

Quite honestly he was still waiting for Professor McGonagall to take him aside, explain there had been some sort of mix up, he wasn't really a wizard, and for him to be shipped back to the Dursleys to continue on with his life as he had been for the past three years since he'd met Lorn.

Harry had mixed feelings about this because really he'd rather never lay eyes on any of the members of the Dursley family ever again and attending boarding school in Scotland one where he even had a friend was really a great luxury. On the other hand there was the matter of his parents and Voldemort and his sudden fame.

Well, Harry thought philosophically as he scribbled out the last line of Professor McGonagall's note, now at least they would find out for sure whether he belonged at Hogwarts as everyone seemed to think or if he did not.

A box of mismatched matchsticks was floating around the classroom and they were meant to be turning them into needles as their first practical task in Transfiguration. Harry couldn't think of what possible use this frivolous bit of magic could be but he was eager to get started.

"D'you reckon we should try and choose one that's already a bit pointy?" asked Ron staring at the contents of the floating box critically.

"I don't really think it matters," Harry said picking out a match at random.

"S'pose you're right," Ron agreed selecting his own.

"Has everyone received a matchstick? Good. You may begin, now," McGonagall announced.

There was a sudden rustle of papers and clothing and soon the low rumble of many people speaking at once. McGonagall kept a sharp eye out as she prowled the aisles between the desks stopping occasionally to correct a student's grip or pronunciation.

"_Sharpius_," Ron said firmly tapping his matchstick with the tip of his wand.

Harry watched carefully but nothing happened. On Ron's other side Seamus Finnegan was having no better luck and was prodding at his matchstick and frowning.

"Aren't you going to give it a go?" asked Ron when Harry just sat there watching them all incant and fail to affect a change in their matchsticks.

"Alright," Harry agreed.

Raising his wand Harry tapped the well of power that grew and deepened with each passing year pushing past the weight that hindered him. Focussing on what he wanted to happen to the matchstick he raised his wand.

"_Sharpius_," Harry ordered tapping the matchstick with his wand.

The effect was instantaneous and startling the matchstick elongated into a silvery point and then melted with a screech like nails on a blackboard and set fire to the desk.

"Professor!" called Seamus, alarmed.

With a wave of her wand McGonagall conjured a stream of water from her wand and put out the small blaze. What remained of the matchstick was thoroughly fused to the desk. Harry felt the strain of drawing on his power but it was less somehow, not anything like how tiring it was to conjure a witchlight or float an object across a room.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry Professor, I don't know what happened," Harry said meekly.

"Come along, Mr. Potter, we'll get you another matchstick,"

Harry followed the stern transfiguration mistress up to her desk where the box of matchsticks floated placidly.

She plucked one from the box at random and held it up at eye level for Harry and began to speak in a low voice.

"Now Mr. Potter, you don't need to bring the magic to bear the way you just did, too much magic damages the integrity of the spell work and you get a mess, as you saw. Let your magic be, don't force it, these are simple spells that don't require very much magical energy at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry nodded.

"Good, back to your table,"

Harry returned to his desk and joined Ron and Seamus in chanting the spell over and over to no avail and being very careful not to give into the temptation to draw his power up from the Abyss. In the end the bushy-haired Hermione Granger was the only one who managed to change her needle at all and Harry was still convinced that he was not a wizard but decided he could probably fake it.

* * *

**AN: **So like I said, short chapter. I wanted to touch on the issue of wand magic versus craft but not go too in depth just yet. A more detailed picture of the differences between craft and magic should form as you continue to read the story with all the whys and wherefores. For now all you need to understand though is that Jewel magic is stronger and more potent than Wizarding magic but wizarding magic is more versatile and requires less strength to use.

If it's unclear, let me know, will edit.

Please review!


	5. Chapter 5: Everything Has a Price

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Five: Everything Has A Price**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels. Anything you recognize was taken directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban p. 60-77 (approx.) and thus is even less mine than everything else.

**Author's Note:** As promised the significantly longer chapter. Check out it's sheer significance. Yeah. Also thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited!

* * *

**Hogwarts, December 13****th ****1993, Afternoon**

Harry double wrapped himself in a sight, psychic, and aural shield and was pleased when they snapped tight to his body just the way Lorn had shown him. He felt the drain from even that simple bit of Craft but he wanted to practice and there wasn't much opportunity to do so with Ron and Hermione around all the time. He had his invisibility cloak for when he got to Hogsmeade so they wouldn't be suspicious and he would eat an extra helping or four at dinner to recoup the lost strength.

He loved his friends, they were more like a family to him than his relatives could ever be but they wouldn't understand Craft and Harry's slightly spotty lessons with Lorn were special. He wasn't ready to have that secrecy and mystery disturbed. Plus, for some reason, he got the sense that Lorn would not appreciate his telling anyone about their time together.

Consulting the mysterious map that Fred and George had admitted was the secret to their early successes; Harry was surprised to find that his name wasn't clear. It was just a long smear. Surprised and a bit confused Harry checked his location, but the set of footprints standing before the marked off secret passageway was the only one in the whole corridor so the blurred splotchy tag had to be his own. He would have to ask the twins about that later.

Glancing back at the map he drew his wand and tapped the statue of the One-Eyed Witch delicately on her hump and muttered '_Dissendium_'. The hump shifted to reveal a gap large enough for a thin person to squeeze through. Harry conjured a ball of witchlight and dropped it into the tunnel then he climbed in himself braced for the long drop to the ground.

It never came.

The tunnel as it turned out was equipped with a cunningly concealed stone slide. He landed in a neat crouch and scanned the tunnel for anything out of the ordinary but there was only cold, damp earth and cobwebs. The witchlight bobbed somewhere between the ceiling and the floor and by its light Harry consulted the map again.

The secret passageway ran straight from the statue to the cellar in Honeydukes with no branches. Feeling confident that even he couldn't come to mischief in an unoccupied one-way tunnel Harry muttered a quick 'Mischief Managed' watching as the lines on the map faded until it once again looked like nothing more than a grubby bit of parchment. Grinning a bit foolishly Harry folded up the map carefully and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robes.

His heart was pounding with excitement and Harry let himself enjoy the adrenaline rush since, for once, its cause was not likely to have him maimed or killed.

The tunnel, though it had no branches, still twisted and turned like it had been dug by some particularly blind giant mole or rabbit and had quite few rough patches that left Harry stumbling. The romance of sneaking around wore off within the first ten minutes or so and Harry began to wonder if it was really worth the hassle not to mention the risk.

Still Sirius Black was only a wizard and as long as Harry stayed shielded nothing short of a Jewelled member of the Blood could touch him.

After what felt like an hour of trudging the tunnel began to slope upward. About ten minutes after that Harry reached the foot of an old stone staircase. Taking care not the slip on the smooth stone he started climbing. If Hogsmeade wasn't absolutely fabulous he was never doing this again, it was far too much effort and honestly he'd rather have tea with Lupin or practice his Craft. Contrary to popular belief he did not like to make trouble for trouble's sake.

He was imagining Lupin's warm office and a nice cup of hot tea with a side of the chocolate the bedraggled Defence professor always seemed to have around and it was only his shield that saved him from a bonk on the head when he reached the top and it collided with a trapdoor.

He stood there listening for a long moment and when he heard nothing he sent out a few cautious psychic feelers. There was no one above him, he was certain. Carefully he pushed the trapdoor open and eased himself up and out of it. The room above was a cellar, chillier than even the tunnel. It was full of wooden crates and boxes and there was a very fine layer of dust over everything. Mindful not to leave footprints, Harry took a half-step up onto the air

Gently he closed the trapdoor back up and as he stared down at it was impressed. If he didn't know there was a trapdoor there he could never find it. With that in mind he took note of a few landmarks so he could get back through the trapdoor and therefore back to school later.

Harry took his invisibility cloak out of his pocket and draped it over himself for extra protection and air walked over to the wooden staircase leading upstairs. He heard voices, chatter and laughter not to mention the opening and shutting of doors, the tingle of a bell, ching-clack of the cash register...and the plod of heavy footsteps. Harry made sure he was out of the way and listened as a door opened and watched a large man thunk down the stairs.

"And get another box of jellied slugs, dear, they've nearly cleaned us out!" called a woman's voice.

She got a grunt she probably couldn't hear for her troubles and the heavyset man, Harry assumed he was her husband, began digging around in a large crate.

Not likely to get a better chance, Harry slunk up the stairs and emerged behind the counter at Honeydukes.

The shop was filled to bursting with Hogwarts students that pushed and shoved each other annoyingly. One more elbow wasn't remarked upon even if it was invisible and Harry made a beeline for the 'Unusual Tastes!' corner of the shop where he spotted the familiar shock of orange-red that was Ron's hair and the large halo of bushy brown curls that wreathed Hermione's head.

They were examining a tray of blood flavoured lollipops that was one of the only displays not notably lacking in items to display. Harry snuck up behind them.

"Urgh, no, Harry won't want one of those, they're for vampires I expect," Hermione was saying.

"How about these?" asked Ron shoving a jar of cockroach clusters at Hermione for examination.

"Definitely not," Harry said emphatically.

Ron went very white, jumped and nearly dropped the entire jar.

"_Harry_!" hissed Hermione very much in the manner of a cat who's just had its tail trodden on, "What are you doing here? How did you -"

Ron cut her off looking impressed.

"Wow, mate, you've learned to apparate," he said.

"Don't be thick, Ronald. You can't apparate in or out of Hogwarts grounds," Hermione reminded him, "I suppose you're under the cloak?"

"Right on both counts, Mione,"

Harry explained to them about the Marauder's Map and Ron went from impressed to annoyed in five seconds flat.

"How come Fred and George never told _me_ about this Map, I'm their _brother_!" he said outraged.

"But Harry's not going to keep it!" said Hermione, as though the idea was particularly ludicrous, "He's going to hand it straight over to Professor McGonagall-"

"Hermione, are you talking about another Harry we don't know of?" Harry interrupted, "Because I for one don't see any reason to turn it in to McGonagall, and never had any intention of doing so,"

"Are you mad?" Ron demanded of Hermione, "Hand in something that good?"

"Look, besides the obvious value of the Map itself, I'm not about to rat out Fred and George! If I turn it in Filch will know exactly who nicked it and they could get in serious trouble," Harry pointed out.

"But what about Sirius Black?" Hermione burst out, "He could be using one of those secret passages to get into Hogwarts and the teachers have got to know!"

"That's impossible for a couple of reasons, one, he would have to know about the secret passages to use them. Two, there are only seven secret passages leading off of Hogwarts grounds and past the dementors on guard of those seven Filch knows about four of them, one is directly under the Whomping Willow, one is collapsed and the last one is here in Honeydukes which-"

Harry gestured to the notice in the window even though he was invisible and they couldn't see the motion.

"—is either open, doing business, or being watched by dementors,"

Just to be on the safe side though Harry made a mental note to Craft lock the trapdoor.

"But Black's slipped past dementors before!" Hermione protested.

"And the owners of Honeydukes sleep in an apartment above the shop, they would hear a break in," Ron insisted.

"Hermione I'm telling you the only way Black could even attempt to use this passage would be if he knew exactly where it was, and the only way to really know that is to have the Map, which is in my possession, and was in Fred and George's for years before now,"

"But, but...you don't have a signed form, what if you're caught!" Hermione burst out.

Harry grinned wickedly.

"Are you going to report me?" he asked.

"Of course not, but honestly Harry -"

Ron cut off Hermione's impending lecture quite simply by grabbing hold of Harry's invisible form and dragging him off to look at more candy.

"Those there are the Jellied Slugs, Fizzing Wizzbees, those are Ginny's favourite, oh and those there are acid pops. Fred gave me one once when I was young, burnt a hole clean through my tongue; mum was beside herself for days. You reckon I can get him to take a bit of cockroach cluster if I tell him they're peanuts,"

"The sun will shine in Hell first," Harry told him cheerfully, examining a display of Ice Mice.

"Thought not," Ron sighed gloomily.

It didn't take long for Ron and Hermione to complete their shopping seeing as how the person they had intended to console with odd sugary items now had no need of their consolation. They paid for their items and left the crowded shop, taking to the marginally less crowded streets.

Harry thanked the Darkness that he had Craft because there was nothing short of a small blizzard raging outside and without the ability to air walk above the snow, and the warming spell he added to his school robes he'd have frozen solid in an instant. As it was he still pulled his invisibility cloak closer around him, glad of the extra protection.

The village of Hogsmeade looked very like muggle Christmas card. The little cottages topped with a thick layer of snowy frosting and decorated with evergreen boughs and enchanted lights for the approaching holidays. They headed up the main street heads bowed to the wind and swirling snow, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves.

"There's the Post Office –"

"And up there is Zonko's—"

"We could go to the Shrieking Shack—"

"Tell you what let's head up to the Three Broomsticks, have a butterbeer," Ron interrupted his teeth chattering slightly.

"That sounds lovely," Hermione agreed shivering slightly.

"I'm in," said Harry, more than willing to get out of the cold.

The trio crossed the street and in just a few minutes were entering the tiny inn. Harry used the crowd in the doorway as a shield and let his sight shields drop before whipping off his invisibility cloak and hurriedly tucking it into his pocket.

The inn, as was the case with most magical buildings, was far roomier on the inside than it looked on the outside but even so it was filled to bursting with people a good number of them Hogwarts students.

A curvy woman with a pretty face and lots of tight blonde ringlets piled on top of her head was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," said Ron, "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red.

Hermione giggled a bit.

"I think Ron fancies her,"

"Poor sod doesn't have a chance," Harry grinned shaking his head.

They made their way to the back of the room. There, there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace.

Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer. He set the drinks down on the table and slid into the seat beside Harry.

"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.

Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, thick, sweet and creamy, it seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.

"This is amazing,"

"Mmm," Hermione hummed in agreement.

A sudden breeze ruffled Harry's hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry glanced up over the rim of his tankard and swallowed thickly. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak-Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on the top of Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table sloshing warm butterbeer down his front. The sticky liquid rolled down the front of his shield and onto the floor where Harry crouched out of sight. Harry clutched his empty tankard and watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right toward him.

Harry cursed his bad luck.

Somewhere above him, Hermione whispered, "_Mobiliarbus_!"

The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, Harry saw four sets of chair legs move back from the table right beside theirs, then heard the grunts and sighs If the teachers and minister as they sat down. Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, and heard a woman's husky voice.

"A small gillywater -"

"Mine," said Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Four pints of mulled mead -"

"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid.

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella –"

"Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.

Harry chuckled a bit into his hand. Who would have guessed Professor Flitwick had such a rampant sweet tooth?

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister,"

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge's voice.

"Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us... "

"Well, thank you very much, Minister."

Harry watched the glittering heels march away and back again. He felt very much like kicking himself. Why hadn't it occurred to him that this was the last weekend of term for the teachers too? And how long were they going to sit there? He needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if he wanted to return to school tonight. That settled it, he was never going to sneak into Hogsmeade again it was far too much bother. Hermione's leg gave a nervous twitch next to him.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" came Madam Rosmerta's voice.

Harry watched as she settled herself onto a stool crossing her legs at the ankles.

Harry saw the lower part of Fudge's thick body twist in his chair, first left and then right as though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Harry shook his head, the man was a fully grown, fully trained wizard in a position of high authority and he couldn't even think to cast a privacy ward or a muffling charm.

Then he said in a quiet voice, "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

"I did hear a rumour," admitted Madam Rosmerta.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

There was a creak and Hagrid shifted nervously in his seat.

"Do you think Blacks still in the area, Minister?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly.

How in the hellfires was he sure of that? Harry wondered setting his tankard down and inching closer on his hands and the balls of his feet. If the Minister knew something more than he was letting the media know Harry wanted to hear about it, after all it was him that Black was after now.

"You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twice?" said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice, "Scared all my customers away... It's very bad for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge uncomfortably, "Necessary precaution... Unfortunate, but there you are... I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore-he won't let them inside the castle grounds. "

"I should think not," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

"Hear, hear!" squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet were dangling a foot from the ground.

"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse... We all know what Black's capable of... "

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully, "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought despite his family... I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly, "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity, "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured Professor McGonagall, "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh, "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here—ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Harry jerked in surprise and his tankard was knocked over. He winced as it hit the floor with a loud clunk before rolling out from under the table. Ron kicked him as Hermione quickly bent and scooped it up.

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall.

"Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course-exceptionally bright, in fact-but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers -"

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid, "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money. "

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor Flitwick, "Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," said Fudge, "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him. "

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Worse even than that, rn'dear..." Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble, "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm. "

"How does that work?" said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"An immensely complex spell, " he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find-unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!"

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta. "Naturally," said Professor McGonagall.

"James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself... And yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself. "

"He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall darkly, "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who. "

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," said Fudge heavily.

"And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed—"

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the realization. For a moment it was as if the whole world had paused and then he felt the denials, the questions, and the burning rage coiling in his gut like a howl he couldn't give voice to.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it –"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall.

"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was Black what took baby Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed! jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead... An' Sirius Black has him. Black came on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THEMURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall, "Keep your voice down!"

"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Leave Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him –' Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore, ' he says. I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him. But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 'em anymore... "

A long silence followed Hagrid's story. It seemed to Harry like time was slowing, the details came into sharp focus and all extraneous noise bled away. His hands curled into claws and without meaning to he used craft to harden his nails to the point where he gouged eight long thin ridges into the floor beneath him as if the spelled oak planks were butter-soft.

Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly, "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew-another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself. "

"Pettigrew... That fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta.

"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I –how I regret that now..."

Harry noted distantly that she sounded on the verge of tears. He cared nothing for this Pettigrew, where was Black?

"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses-Muggles, of course, we wiped their, memories later-told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens... "

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy ... Foolish boy... He was always hopeless at duelling... Should have left it to the Ministry... "

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands-I'd've ripped him limb-from-limb, " Hagrid growled.

A sentiment Harry could fully agree with.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply, "Nobody but trained Hit-Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I-I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... A heap of bloodstained robes and a few-a few fragments -"

Fudge's voice stopped abruptly.

"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement 'Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since. "

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh.

"Is it true he's mad, Minister?"

"I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly, "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man-cruel... Pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them... But I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored-asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to behaving on him-and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta, "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his-er-eventual plan," said Fudge evasively, "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing... But give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again... "

But where was Black? What did the Ministry know about the traitor's location? Harry shook with the effort of waiting for the Minister to let something slip.

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, he'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall.

One by one, the pairs of feet in front of Harry took the weight of their owners once more; hems of cloaks swung into sight, and Madam Rosmerta's glittering heels disappeared behind the bar. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.

Harry was coiled and prepared to move. He would follow the Minister, get him alone, wring Black's last location from him by whatever means proved most expedient and then –

"Harry!" hissed Hermione putting a hand on his shoulder and preventing him from moving, "You have to get out of here, come on!"

All of a sudden it was like he'd taken a step away from that clear place in his mind and now everything was rushing into the empty space again and he was just overwhelmed by red hot fury. He barely felt it as Ron and Hermione tossed the cloak over his head and led him from the bar and out into the snow. The cold outside did nothing to bank the fire of his rage.

'_You have much of your father in you,' _

Lorn's words, the laughing tones of exasperated amusement taking on a mocking quality in his memories. They circled around in the red haze that had become his mind. Malfoy was right he was going to hunt Black down and watch his blood run. First though he needed to know why the one person he'd trusted to tell him the truth had kept him from exacting his vengeance.

Harry had no clear recollection of how he got into the Honeydukes cellar and through the trap door, likely it was another thing to thank Hermione for later, but somehow he'd managed it without being seen and now he knew who he needed to talk to.

His descent into the Abyss was abrupt and a sharp psychic wind blew to add to the wintry chill of the village above. A very few people shivered and pulled their cloaks closer around them, not that they would protect them from this kind of wind.

*Lorn!*

Harry had never summoned his Craft tutor before. Lorn had always come to him when they both had the time and energy to spare for lessons in craft and protocol.

But something about the rage filled call into the Darkness must have caught his attention because he was there in mere minutes gliding through the Abyss far, far below Harry his formidable presence rising like some ancient sea beast from the depths, large and deadly.

*Careful, Prince, you do not want to hone my temper to a killing edge,* came the cutting sibilant response to Harry's impetuous summons.

Harry felt some sanity returned to him as he backed further away from that invisible line, that frighteningly clear place in his mind, no longer stewing in his temper as avoiding being made the target of Lorn's wrath came to the forefront of his mind.

*Why didn't you tell me? You knew my parents, you knew my father why didn't you tell me they were betrayed? Did you think I wasn't ready to hunt down Black? That I couldn't handle him? Better yet, explain to me why my parents didn't protect themselves using Craft! Wizarding spells do barely anything to a Craft shield. Why...*

Harry couldn't continue the sending but the soft sting of accusation hung in the air unspoken. Harry's throat closed up as fury was burnt away by grief and doubt and his eyes welled with tears. Why hadn't they done every possible thing to stay with him? Why had they let themselves be slaughtered by a megalomaniacal wizard who couldn't stand against the strength of the Blood?

*You said you knew my father,*

The edge to Lorn's thoughts dissipated and his tone softened.

*Ah, Prince, everything has a price, the price of your life, was that you never knew your family and your family never knew you. It was not your father who was betrayed by this wizard but your adoptive parents,*

*What? That's not possible, I look just like my father, everyone says I look exactly like him!*

*That in and of itself is suspicious, Prince, it is rare to have a son be a father's mirror. More likely they used some kind of illusion to change your appearance. You were sent through the Last Gate for your own safety and the people who took you in, I gather, knew nothing of Craft or of what and who you are,* Lorn told him.

*But then...*

Harry slumped against the side of the secret passage not caring about dirt, damp, or cold. A hundred questions were swirling around his mind most of them centred around the people he'd thought were his parents and their motivations. Useless questions since his adoptive parents were dead and couldn't answer them.

*Does it really matter, Prince, that they were not blood of your blood? They took you in from the cold, loved you and protected you the best way they knew how,*

It did matter, and it didn't at the same time. Harry sighed and there was a long silence between them where they said nothing but maintained a thin thread of awareness of each other.

*Tell me about my birth parents, my family, tell me why they never knew me, are they even still alive?* Harry finally demanded.

*You do have living blood relations and the fault for never knowing them lies for the most part with your grandmother,* Lorn said slowly, hesitantly.

*Why do I get the feeling this is not something you want to talk about?* Harry asked taking a deep breath, and settling in.

After a moment of consideration he added another warming spell to his clothing with Craft and re-shielded to keep out the damp. It looked like he'd be settling in for a long explanation.

*She is your family. Blood of your blood. Once you have the strength to defend yourself from her machinations you should have the choice to develop a relationship with her if you wish it. That was your grandfather's desire for your father and uncle, and though I do not necessarily agree that cultivating such a relationship is a wise idea I also understand the bonds of blood are strong ones,* Lorn said carefully.

Harry's interest sharpened, Lorn had always taught him to look carefully at both sides of an argument or a situation because things were never simple or clear cut. This time he seemed reluctant to tell him anything, and Harry could barely believe it but he sort of thought it was because Lorn couldn't be impartial about this woman. That more than anything told him what kind of woman, what kind of witch, his grandmother was.

*Just tell me what you know,* Harry said bracing himself for what was almost certainly going to be bad news.

*Where to begin,* mused Lorn, *Well, Prince, to start your name is not truly Harry Potter. The name your mother gave you is Graeson Moray SaDiablo, and I have a good idea of its origins. Your father was Peyton SaDiablo, he wore the Gray, hence Gray's son. Your mother was Shira, a Dharo born musician and a Summer Sky witch whose mother's name was Morae. SaDiablo is of course your family name. Your father was a Hayllian Warlord Prince who lived in Dhemlan Kaeleer and ruled a small but important trading village near the border between Dhemlan and Dharo for his father. Your grandfather is a very powerful man as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan in both Terrielle and Kaeleer even the Queens in his domain are answerable to him, and that says nothing of his other titles. Shira was deceived into believing that he, in particular, would not approve of the dilution of his dark bloodline with a lighter jewelled witch with virtually no social status,*

*Did he care? About her social status, I mean. You said she was deceived into believing it but that doesn't necessarily mean he didn't care,* Harry pointed out.

*Hardly, Saetan was born the bastard child of a whore in Draega, he grew up in the streets, he better than anyone understood that bloodlines and jewel strength mattered little in the face of character and honour. Your grandmother however was an influential aristo Priestess from one of the Hundred Families of Hayll and she wore the Red. She wanted powerful well-bred witches for her sons and cared little for love. I doubt she believed it was anything more than a weakness to exploit. Something that made people gratifyingly irrational and easily manipulated,* Lorn let out a gusty mental sigh.

*Why would my grandfather, er…Saetan, why would he marry her if he didn't care about social ranks or jewelled strength?*

*Simply put she used Saetan's desire for love against him. She pretended she wanted the man and not his power, and seduced his lonely heart. She thought, perhaps, that she understood what and who she was dealing with but Saetan's honour was not something she could fathom. She used his sons as leverage to force him to part with some of that power she craved when she was not granted any in marriage. Then she pushed too far and got a taste of her husband's true power, but again did not understand it. Saetan divorced her shortly thereafter unable to turn a blind eye to her schemes any longer,*

*What is her name?*

*Hekatah, but they call her the Dark Priestess, she has a following among the Demon Dead who have a quarrel with the High Lord for whatever reason, and she wants power, 'tis all she's ever coveted,*

Harry nodded, he knew exactly the type of woman she was, she was a female Lucius Malfoy, maybe even worse than Lucius Malfoy.

*What did she do to my mother?* Harry asked not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

*Nothing too drastic as far as such things go. She whispered honeyed threats in Shira's ear, made her feel unwelcome cultivated her natural wariness of your grandfather and his power until it was irrational fear. It is possible she also used tangled webs to more deeply engrave her lies into Shira's mind. Your mother would have had very little defence against such methods and if Hekatah was subtle enough no one would have noticed the spell craft, not even Shira herself,*

*So what exactly did my mother do?*

*She refused to marry your father, and once she found out she was pregnant she went into hiding and no one knew of your existence. You were sent through the Last Gate the very day you were born to make sure no one found out about you before you were capable of defending yourself,*

*And sometime after that the Potters found me and I became, Harry Potter,* Harry said nodding to himself.

It made sense in a depressing sort of way. He'd never met another person who was Blood like he was Blood, well besides Lorn, and if Lily and James Potter had even basic Craft with which to counter Voldemort they likely would never have died. Despite being routed and blindsided by Black's sudden betrayal.

*Lorn, there's something else, when I heard about the betrayal, I...I don't know, it was like the world tilted and suddenly everything was in sharper focus and I—* Harry broke off with a shake of his head, *Well, let's just say if it weren't for Hermione I might have done something really stupid,*

*What you felt was natural, Prince, it is part of what you are to know the Killing Edge,*

*The what?*

*The Killing Edge, temper sharpened until it can only be slaked with blood, a Warlord Prince rises to the Killing Edge as easily and as naturally as breathing, it is something that will happen often throughout the course of your life. The trick is knowing when and how to leash the temper and when to just let go,*

*But I don't, I don't want—*

*Don't lie to yourself, Prince, you may not be happy when it's done but when you first step onto a Killing Field you won't hesitate, and blood will flow. Fighting what you are will just make you miserable, you do not want your Self to become a battleground,*

*It's murder!*

*There is no law against murder among the Blood but there is a price. Everything has a price; sometimes that price is death or pain. It is Protocol and the subtle checks and balances that keep us from ripping each other apart. It is why I am teaching you what I am. You may have been raised as a landen, in a culture that abhors killing, that avoids it whenever possible, but you were born to know violence,*

*So I'm a murderer and I haven't even killed anybody,* snarked Harry bitterly.

*No, you are a Warlord Prince, nothing more or less,*

* * *

**AN:** So there's a lot of Harry Potter canon in here to sift through but I hope I've managed to get my point across. Anyway, let me know what you think by leaving me a lovely review!


	6. Chapter 6: Spectral Dog, Phantom Hands

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Six: The Killing Edge**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels. That which you recognize has been transcripted from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

**Author's** **Note: **Hey there! Me again, just wanted to thank everyone who took the time to review, favourite or alert! You guys are the best! Now on to the story!

* * *

**Hogwarts Grounds, June 19****th**** 1993, Night**

They heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws... Something was bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow—an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog. With barely a thought a shield snapped tight to his body and Harry stepped forward putting himself in between the danger and his friends. Harry had just enough time to register the fact that it was the same spectral dog that had been haunting him all year, before the dog made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest. He keeled over backward in a whirl of hair and felt the breath hiss out of his body as his back hit the ground. He felt the dog's hot breath on his face, saw inch long teeth.

Harry felt the wild rage rising within him burning away pain and fear as he hurtled up towards that invisible line in his mind called the Killing Edge.

Harry kicked out mercilessly with one booted foot, putting a bit of craft behind his normal strength to send the beast flying off him with a yelp.

The dog got to his feet and snarled a challenge at him. Harry bared his teeth and snarled back, crouched low to the ground ready to move at a moment's notice.

The dog laid its ears back apparently shocked at the response to its challenge.

Growling low in its throat, its hackles raised, the dog pressed the attack. Harry moved to meet the attack head on when Ron pushed him out of the way.

"Look out!" the redhead cried.

Startled Harry stumbled, and the dog's massive jaws latched onto Ron's outstretched arm.

Harry lunged forward, he seized a handful of the brute's hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though he were a rag doll.

Then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry so hard across the face he was knocked off his feet again. He heard Hermione shriek with pain and fall too.

Not bothering with his wand Harry conjured a ball of witchlight and threw it into the air above him. He gasped and stumbled at the sudden drain on his strength.

The witchlight showed him the trunk of a thick tree; they had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and its branches were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backward and forward to stop them going nearer. And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backward into a large gap in the roots—Ron was fighting furiously, but his head and torso were slipping out of sight.

"Ron!" Harry shouted, trying to follow, but a heavy branch whipped lethally through the air and he was forced backward again.

All they could see now was one of Ron's legs, which he had hooked around a root in an effort to stop the dog from pulling him farther underground—but a horrible crack cut the air like a gunshot; Ron's leg had broken, and a moment later, his foot vanished from sight.

"Harry—we've got to go for help –" Hermione gasped.

Harry snarled low in his throat when he caught sight of the blood leaking through the fabric of her t-shirt. The thrice-damned tree had caught her across the shoulder. Without a second thought Harry dropped the shield around himself and reformed one around Hermione. He shook off the dizziness; it took power to create a shield but not so much to maintain it. He could keep Hermione safe more effectively if he concentrated all his power on her. With that in mind he let the witchlight flicker out.

"_Lumos_," he muttered in time to illuminate the whip-like branch that cracked him across the face.

He cursed wiping the blood out of his eyes as he dodged out of range again.

Beside and a bit behind him Hermione's wand tip lit up. Harry waved her back as she attempted to move forward, never mind that the shield would protect her, he didn't want her to need the protection.

"Go to the castle, get Lupin and McGonagall – no, get Hagrid first, he'll know how to deal with this damn thing, then go up to the castle—"

"Absolutely not Harry James Potter!" Hermione snapped, her voice cracking like a whip, "I am not leaving you here to get yourself killed by this tree or that dog! We're never going to get through without help,"

Another branch whipped down at him, twigs clenched like knuckles, as he tried to get closer.

"If that dog can get in, we can," Harry snapped back, darting here and there, trying to find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn't get an inch nearer to the tree roots without being in range of the tree's blows.

He snarled in frustration.

Appearing out of the deepening shadows of twilight Crookshanks darted forward. He slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk. Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione exclaimed surprised.

She now grasped Harry's arm painfully hard.

"How did he know –?"

"He's friends with that dog," said Harry grimly, "I've seen them together. Come on—and keep your wand out!"

They covered the distance to the trunk in seconds, but before they had reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks had slid into it with a flick of his bottlebrush tail.

Harry went next; he crawled forward, headfirst, and slid down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing in the light from Harry's wand. Seconds later, Hermione slithered down beside him.

"Where's Ron?" she whispered glancing around the narrow tunnel.

"This way," said Harry, setting off, bent-backed, after Crookshanks.

"Where does this tunnel come out?" Hermione asked breathlessly from behind him.

"I don't know. It's marked on the Marauder's Map but Fred and George said no one's ever gotten into it. It goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it was heading for Hogsmeade,"

They moved as fast as they could, bent almost double. Ahead of them, Crookshanks' tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the passage. It felt at least as long as the one to Honeydukes. All Harry could think of was Ron and what the enormous dog might be doing to him.

Rage spurred him on faster.

Behind him Hermione was drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch. And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Instead, Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. He and Hermione paused to quiet their breathing before edging forward cautiously.

Both raised their wands to see what lay beyond. Harry slid in front of her to protect her from whatever might be on the other side of that door.

It was a room, a very disordered, dusty room.

Paper was peeling from the walls, there were long dried bloodstains all over the floor, every piece of furniture was broken, as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked very pale but nodded. Harry pulled himself out of the hole, searching eyes flicking from one shadowy corner to the next, as he let out psychic feelers. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway.

Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry's arm again. Her wide eyes were traveling around the boarded windows.

"Harry," she whispered, "I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

Harry looked around. His eyes fell on a wooden chair near them. Large chunks had been torn out of it; one of the legs had been ripped off entirely.

"Ghosts didn't do that," he said slowly.

Something with large sharp teeth had done it. The dog?

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Both of them looked up at the ceiling. Hermione's grip on Harry's arm was so tight he was losing feeling in-his fingers. He raised his eyebrows at her; she nodded again and let go.

Quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.

They reached the dark landing.

"_Nox_," they whispered together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out.

Only one door was open. As they crept toward it, they heard movement from behind it; a low moan, and then a deep, loud purring. They exchanged a last look, a last nod. Wand held tightly before him, Harry kicked the door wide open. On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange angle, was Ron. Harry and Hermione dashed across to him.

"Ron—are you okay?"

"Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," Ron moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. "Harry, it's a trap –"

"What –"

"He's the dog! He's an Animagus."

Ron was staring over Harry's shoulder. Harry wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin.

Harry's world tilted and sharpened.

It was Sirius Black.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he croaked, pointing Ron's wand at them.

Harry's and Hermione's wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. Then he took a step closer.

His eyes were fixed on Harry.

Harry cocked his head to the side, surveying his opponent with glazed eyes as he put his body in between Black and his friends. A craft shield snapped tight to Ron's body as he moved.

"I thought you'd come and help your friend," Black said hoarsely.

His voice sounded as though he had long since lost the habit of using it.

"Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I'm grateful... It will make everything much easier,"

"Much," Harry agreed in a low sleepy croon.

The jab about the man who had taken him in rung in his ears, scraping at his temper. Fire skated through his veins and it was almost easy to lengthen and harden his nails into short razor sharp talons with craft, the drain a distant worry.

He glided forward a few steps ready to rip open the throat of the traitor before him and feel the hot blood coat his hands. There was a sudden movement on either side of him and two sets of hands grabbed him pulling him back.

"No Harry!" Hermione demanded, fear for him clear in her voice.

Harry bared his teeth at her, but was reluctant to disobey her command.

Ron, however, spoke to Black.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" he said fiercely, though the effort of standing upright was draining him of still more color, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.

Something flickered in Black's shadowed eyes.

"Lie down," he said quietly to Ron. "You will damage that leg even more."

"Did you hear me?" Ron said weakly, though he was clinging painfully to Harry to stay upright. "You'll have to kill all three of us!"

"There'll be only one murder here tonight," said Black, and his grin widened.

With a gentle shove Ron hit the edge of four-poster and sat, coughing at the cloud of dust the action raised.

"Why?" Harry said with a cold smile, "It didn't matter to you that there were thirteen innocents that died by your hand when you went after Pettigrew. It didn't matter when you sold out the people who trusted you with their lives and the life of their small child. What's the matter, Black? Has your long stay in Azkaban made you soft?"

"Harry, please, be quiet," Hermione begged.

"However you are correct about one thing," said Harry, ignoring Hermione, "There will be only one murder tonight, yours,"

In one fluid motion he'd shrugged out of Hermione's hold and crossed the room launching himself bodily at Black before the larger man could bring any of his stolen wands to bear. The man's haunted grey eyes widened in shock.

They rolled until they hit the wall, Harry straddling Black's waist. Two wands went rolling away and out of the corner of his eye he registered Hermione scrambling for them. Black tried to raised his other hand, the one still clutching Ron's wand but Harry slammed it into the floor of the shack with the force of temper and craft behind it.

The bones of that thin emaciated wrist crunched and Black screamed gratifyingly.

Hermione screamed something as well and Ron was yelling, but he ignored them intent on Black's agonized expression. Harry didn't flinch as a stream of red sparks flew past his cheek, but bared his teeth in a feral smile as he pried Ron's wand out of Black's limp grip and tossed it behind him.

Black's free hand found Harry's throat.

"No," he hissed, "I've waited too long –"

Harry's knee came up between Black's thighs and slammed home. Black moaned, and Harry tore the grasping hand from his throat his nails gouging into the skeletal forearm.

"If you're not careful I'll break the other one," Harry warned.

Using his rage to fuel his craft Harry conjured up two phantom hands and used them to hold Black down as he leaned in, tilting his chin up with the tip of one razor sharp nail.

"Look me in the eyes," he crooned.

"You going to kill me, Harry?" rasped Black.

Harry smiled, a lazy, knife edged smile.

"Yes, eventually, but first I'm going to hurt you,"

"Harry..." Hermione whispered.

He could hear the fear that made her voice quaver, it permeated her psychic scent.

"He owes me! He owes me for Lily and James!" Harry snarled.

"Harry, please—"

"You killed them," he hissed turning his attention back to Black.

"I don't deny it," he said very quietly. "But if you knew the whole story—"

"The whole story?" Harry repeated in a deceptively mild voice, "You sold them to Voldemort. You betrayed them. That's all I need to know,"

Black flinched away from the prick of Harry's nails.

"You've got to listen to me," Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now.

"Why?"

"You'll regret it if you don't. You don't understand—"

"I understand better than you think. I remember that night, Black. You weren't there for the main event, but thanks to the Dementors I remember it quite clearly. You didn't hear my mother pleading for Voldemort to spare me. You don't remember the snap of her bones breaking as he tossed her aside like so much trash. You did that...you!"

For a long moment there was shocked silence broken only by the ragged breathing of Ron and Black.

"As for regret," Harry let out a self-depreciating laugh, "He was right, there will be room for regret later, but by then you'll be dead,"

And then came a new sound –muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor—someone was moving downstairs.

"WE'RE UP HERE!" Hermione screamed suddenly. "WE'RE UP HERE—SIRIUS BLACK—QUICK!"

"Damn!" Harry snarled, glancing at the door, "I was hoping for more time, but I suppose I'll just have to be content opening your throat and watching your blood run,"

Black bucked violently trying to dislodge Harry from his hips. Harry jammed one bony knee into Black's gut robbing him of breath and wrapped one long fingered hand around his throat—the door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready.

"_Depulso_!" he cried.

Harry's nails raked long gashes into Black's throat as he was banished into the opposite wall the breath once again knocked out of him.

"_Expelliarmus_,"

Ron and Hermione's wands went flying out of their white-knuckled grip and into the air where Professor Lupin caught them deftly.

His eyes flickered over Ron, sprawled on the bed, over Hermione, crouched in front of him on the floor one of her hands clutched in him, to Harry, who coughed out a soft snarl and pinned him with a venomous glare, and then to Black, still pinned to the floor, ashen and bleeding.

"Where is he, Sirius?" demanded Lupin, a hint of a rumbling growl in his voice.

Harry gave Lupin a sharp searching once over. He didn't understand what Lupin meant. Who was Lupin talking about? He turned to look at Black again. Black's face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn't move at all. Then he turned his head to look at Lupin. Grey eyes met amber and then very deliberately Black's eyes flicked over to Ron.

Harry staggered to his feet leaning heavily on the wall as the effort of craft and the fighting had robbed him of his strength. He cursed his own weakness.

"But then..." Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it seemed he was trying to read his mind, "...why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless—"Lupin's eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see, "— unless he was the one... Unless you switched...Without telling me?"

Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Lupin's face, Black nodded.

"Professor," Ron interrupted loudly, "What the bloody hell is going on—"

But he never finished the question, because what he saw made his voice die in his throat. Lupin was lowering his wand, his gaze fixed on Black. He moved to help Black to his feet but the skeletal animagus was still pinned to the floor by Harry's phantom hands.

"What—"

"Dunno, Harry's spell, I can't move, it's pinning me down," Black explained.

Lupin frowned, his brow furrowing as he wiped a droplet of blood from his neck with the pad of one finger. His eyes met Harry's from where the teen leaned against the wall, and he shivered under that glazed sleepy look.

"Are you alright, Sirius?"

"DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione screamed.

Lupin let go of Black and turned to her. She had raised herself off the floor and was pointing at Lupin, wild-eyed.

"You—you –"

"Hermione –"

"— you and him!"

"Hermione, calm down –"

"I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked furiously. "I've been covering up for you –"

"Hermione, listen to me, please" Lupin shouted, "I can explain –"

Harry could feel himself shaking, not with exhaustion, but with a fresh wave of fury. Lupin was upsetting Hermione. Lupin was helping Black.

"I trusted you," he snarled at Lupin, "and all the time you've been his friend, knowing full well what he did to my family,"

"You're wrong," growled Lupin. "I haven't been Sirius's friend, not for a very long time, but I am now—Let me explain..."

"NO!" Hermione screamed. "Harry, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too—he's a werewolf!"

There was a ringing silence. Crookshanks emerged out from under the four-poster and sauntered over to Black's prone form, settling himself in his lap. Everyone's eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale.

"Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione," he said, "Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don't want Harry dead," An odd shiver passed over his face, "But I won't deny that I am a werewolf."

Ron made a valiant effort to get up again but fell back with a whimper of pain.

Lupin made toward him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, "Get away from me, werewolf!"

Lupin stopped dead.

Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, "How long have you known?"

"Ages," Hermione hissed, "Since I did Professor Snape's essay..."

"He'll be delighted," said Lupin coolly, "He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant. Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?"

"Both," Hermione said quietly.

Lupin forced a laugh.

"You really are the cleverest witch of your age, Hermione,"

"I'm not," Hermione said her voice dripping with bitterness, "If I'd been a bit cleverer, I'd have told everyone what you are!"

"But they already know," said Lupin, "At least, the staff do."

"Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf," Ron gasped. "Is he mad?"

"Some of the staff thought so," said Lupin, "He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I'm trustworthy –"

"Which obviously you're not," said Harry gliding forward.

He paused arching one thin black eyebrow as Lupin brought his wand up to point it at his chest. To shield or not to shield, he thought to himself, dragging the points of his nails against his palms gently and imagining them biting into soft flesh.

Lupin sighed.

"I have not been helping Sirius," said Lupin. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look –"

He separated Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's wands and threw each back to its owner. Harry caught his and twirled it between his fingertips.

"There," said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt, "You're armed, and we're not, now will you listen?"

"Harry?" Hermione queried in a small hesitant voice.

With an effort Harry held to the frayed edge of his self-control, for her.

Phantom nails dragged across the back of Lupin's neck. The defence professor whipped around and while he was distracted the second hand dragged his leg out from under him, he hit the floor with a surprised yelp, then both hands moved to pin Lupin the same way they'd pinned Black.

Tired from using yet more craft Harry leaned his hip against the bed and pinning Lupin with his merciless green gaze he softly ordered, "Speak. If I'm not convinced, you can die along with your old school friend. Won't that be lovely?"

Lupin gaped at Harry as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing and hearing.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" he crooned.

"Professor," Hermione interjected, sending Harry a wary glance, "If you haven't been helping him, how did you know Black was here?"

"The map," croaked Lupin suddenly, as if he'd just remembered how to use his voice, "The Marauder's Map. I was in my office examining it –"

"You know how to work it?" Ron said suspiciously.

"Of course I know how to work it," said Lupin, somewhat impatiently, "I helped write it. I'm Moony—that was my friends' nickname for me at school,"

"You wrote –?" started Hermione sounding absolutely fascinated.

Lupin cut off the impending stream of probing questions by hastily continuing.

"The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Ron, and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I," he craned his neck to pin them all with knowing looks, "You might have been wearing your father's old cloak, Harry—"

"How d'you know about the cloak?" Ron demanded.

"The number of times I saw James disappearing under it..." said Lupin, trailing off with an impatient sigh, "The point is, even if you're wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder's Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else—"

"What?" said Ron.

"No, we weren't!" Hermione protested.

"I couldn't believe my eyes," said Lupin, shaking his head, and ignoring the interruption. "I thought the map must be malfunctioning. Look at Harry's dot label; all blurred and such, there must be some sort of error. How could he be with you?"

"No one was with us!" said Hermione.

"And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labelled Sirius Black. I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow –"

"One of us!" Ron said angrily.

"No, Ron," said Lupin. "Two of you," he raised himself as far off the ground and the phantom hands would allow, his eyes moving over Ron, "Do you think I could have a look at the rat?" he said evenly.

"What?" said Ron, "What's Scabbers got to do with it?"

"Everything," said Lupin. "Could I see him, please? You don't have to release me, just bring him close enough for me to see clearly,"

Harry silently offered his friend his arm.

Ron hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. Scabbers emerged, thrashing desperately; Ron had to seize his long bald tail to stop him escaping. Crookshanks stood up on Black's leg and made a soft hissing noise.

Leaning heavily on Harry, Ron limped over to where Lupin lay vulnerable on the floor. The defence professor seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed intently at Scabbers.

"What?" Ron said again, holding Scabbers close to him, looking scared. "What's my rat got to do with anything?"

"That's not a rat," croaked Sirius Black suddenly.

"What d'you mean—of course he's a rat –"

"No, he's not," said Lupin quietly, "He's a wizard."

"An Animagus," said Black, "by the name of Peter Pettigrew,"

* * *

**AN: **And there you have it folks. Chapter Six. Whew.

So I know I said Harry was like Peyton and I know Peyton was a bit more like Lucivar when it comes to temperment, as far as the books indicate, but really Harry just doesn't have the build for that kind of thing and there's no point in bellowing and raging if you can't make a physical show of strength, so I took my inspiration more from the Sadist, Jaenelle, Chaosti, Surreal and others of the subtle but deadly nature. Hope it turned out alright.

Let me know in a lovely review!


	7. Chapter 7: Truths and a Liar

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Seven: Truths and a Liar**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels. Anything you recognize was transcribed from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and thus is even less mine then everything else.

**Author's Note:** Hello there gentle readers, welcome back to another exciting chapter of the Lost One! First of all I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited, you all rock! Secondly, I would like to apologize for the long wait for an update, if you're interested in my excuses I'll explain a bit in the note at the end of this chapter. Now, without furthur delay, go forth and do what you reader-types do best!

* * *

There was a ringing silence throughout the small room and for a long moment even the dust motes were still.

Then Hermione spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Professor Lupin to talk sensibly.

"But Professor Lupin, Scabbers can't be Pettigrew. It just can't be true, you know it can't," she insisted.

"Why can't it be true?" Lupin said calmly, exactly as though they were in class, and Hermione had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with grindylows.

"Because... Because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework—the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there's a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things... And I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew's name wasn't on the list."

Harry had barely had time to quirk an indulgent smile at the extreme lengths Hermione went to for the sake of her homework, when Lupin started to laugh.

"Right again, Hermione!" he said. "But the Ministry never knew that here used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts."

"Unregistered?" Harry hummed interestedly.

"I you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," said Black, who was still watching Scabbers' every desperate move. "I've waited twelve years, I'm not going to wait much longer."

Harry shot Black a mocking smile, lounging against the nearest wall, his glassy green eyes half-lidded behind his spectacles.

"And just how do you think you're going to do anything while you're caught in my little spell? You'll wait until I deign to release you."

"Ah, yes, well," Lupin interrupted, "You'll need to help me, Sirius, with the story, I only know how it began."

Lupin broke off. There had been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had swung open of its own accord. All five of them stared at it. Harry gave a silent snarl when caught a faint whiff of his own psychic scent.

Hermione moved fractionally towards the door.

"Wait," Harry said softly.

Hermione froze glancing back at Harry and shivering at the look in his eyes.

"Harry it's probably nothing this house is just old, there's probably no one there," she said.

"There's someone there," crooned Harry.

"This place is haunted!" said Ron.

"It's not," said Lupin, still looking at the door in a puzzled way, his nostrils flaring minutely, "The Shrieking Shack was never haunted. The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me."

Harry moved quickly, dashing forward before anyone could react and tearing the Invisibility Cloak away from the interloper, careful not to catch the delicate fabric on his nails, and revealing Snape's surprised face, his wand pointing inadvertently at the young warlord prince's chest.

Hermione let out a alarmed little trill, and both Black and Lupin craned their necks straining against their invisible bonds to see what was going on more clearly.

"Hello Professor," said Harry silkily as he snatched Snape's wand out of his grip before the potion's master could think to curse him, "Thank you for bringing this up to me, I had quite forgotten about it, you really shouldn't have."

"Potter, just what do you think you're doing you stupid boy?" Snape hissed venomously.

"Professor," squeaked Hermione in alarm making abortive gestures with her hands as Harry's sleepy smile took on a razor's edge.

Unaware of the danger lurking right in front of him Snape turned to face the witch fury written in every line of his face.

"Miss Granger, cease that ridiculous display, you are already facing suspension from this school," Snape spat. "You, Potter, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue."

"Severus—" Lupin began, but Snape overrode him.

"I've told the headmaster again and again that you're helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout—"

"Severus, you're making a mistake," said Lupin urgently, "You haven't heard everything, Harry—"

Snape turned back to face Harry and made a choking noise as Harry moved suddenly and took him by the throat, slamming him into the doorframe with one hand.

"Harry you—you attacked a teacher...you attacked a teacher," Hermione moaned in horror, staring at the gasping Snape with frightened eyes. "Oh, we're going to be in so much trouble—"

"Harry, mate, that's Snape…" Ron trailed off looking very pale a frightened his freckles standing out against his skin starkly.

He glanced wildly between Harry and Hermione but seemed unable to come up with a reason that would get Harry to stop what he was doing.

"'Mione, tell him," he croaked helplessly.

"Harry you can't do anything to Professor Snape, think about it! We're already sure to be expelled, please, Harry, just—we need—Professor Lupin's story!" she exclaimed suddenly dashing to Harry's side and tugging on the arm that had Snape pinned.

"What about it?" Harry said shrugging off her grip.

"Professor Snape could be like a witness," Hermione said very quickly, "If it turns out that everyone was wrong all this time about what happened, no one would believe us, not with only our words to go on. Professor Snape needs to hear it too."

Harry was silent for a long moment his head cocked slightly to one side watching dispassionately as Snape began to turn blue from lack of oxygen his struggles becoming weaker and a few small rivulets of blood running down his neck where his nails had broken skin.

"Is it your wish that I spare his life, Lady?" he asked her formally, trying to leash the temper.

Protocol. He thought to himself, a Warlord Prince Served his Lady before anything else, though even if it was Hermione that demanded it of him he didn't know if he could release Black, Snape and Lupin now. Not before he knew exactly what had happened the night his adopted family was killed. He was too far gone.

"Yes," she breathed out immediately, relief coming into her wide brown eyes, "You should just tie him up like you did to Black and Professor Lupin, please Harry, for me?"

"As is please the Lady," he agreed after a long moment.

He released Snape physically and then while the wizard was still gasping for his breath used yet another set of phantom hands to pin Snape prone against the wall.

"Potter!" Snape snarled lunging against the invisible hands, "How dare you—"

"_S-silencio_!" Hermione said, hurriedly waving her wand at Snape, "I'm sorry, P-professor, but Harry is—well I'm afraid if you say anything more he'll really kill you."

"Enough of these interruptions," Harry snarled more to himself than anyone.

He closed his eyes mapping out the dimensions of the room and with an effort he managed to conjure a craft shield around the whole room.

"There now, nobody else gets in or out," Harry said.

Swaying slightly and feeling almost drunk with a strange combination of limitless rage and growing weakness Harry moved to sit on the bed with Ron. The redhead gave him a wary sideway glance but didn't move or say anything.

"Professor Lupin," Hermione said shakily her hands trembling as she picked Crookshanks up from his perch on Black's lap and began stroking his fluffy orange fur, "I think you'd best continue your story now."

Lupin and Black were both very pale seeming to realize for the first time that they were locked in a room with something quite dangerous and neither of them spoke for a long moment.

"Start talking, I haven't got the patience to sit here all night," snapped Harry.

"R—right, well, as I was saying earlier, this whole thing starts, more or less, with my becoming a werewolf, None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten," he paused with a self-depreciating smile, "And if I hadn't been so foolhardy."

He looked shocked, a bit frightened and most of all exhausted. Ron started to interrupt, but Hermione, said, "Shh!"

She was watching Lupin very intently and was petting Crookshanks like the motion of her hand over his fur was the only thing keeping her sane.

"I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. The potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week, preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform. I'm able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again. Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully-fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren't likely to want their children exposed to me. But then Dumbledore became Headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said that as long as we took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn't come to school."

Lupin sighed, and looked directly at Harry, his amber gaze holding that poisonous green one for as long as he could stand before he was forced to glance away.

"I told you, months ago, that the Whomping Willow was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. The truth is that it was planted because I came to Hogwarts. This house—" Lupin looked miserably around the room, "—the tunnel that leads to it—they were built for my use. Once a month, I was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform. The tree was placed at the tunnel mouth to stop anyone coming across me while I was dangerous."

"Go on," Harry crooned.

He couldn't see where this was going but he was listening intently all the same. The only sound apart from Lupin's voice was Scabbers' frightened squeaking.

"My transformations in those days were—were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore encouraged the rumor. Even now, when the house has been silent for years, the villagers don't dare approach it. But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. And, of course, your father, Harry—James Potter. Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her regularly. I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you, Hermione, worked out the truth and, to my continued amazement, they didn't desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi."

"All of them?" said Ron looking impressed.

"Yes, indeed," said Lupin. "It took them the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong—one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in our fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will. "

"But how did that help you?" said Hermione, sounding puzzled.

"On the nights of the full moon they couldn't keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals," said Lupin. "A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James' Invisibility Cloak. They transformed. Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow's attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and join me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them."

"They grounded the animal in you," Harry commented.

"Yes," said Lupin nodding slightly, "Much as Hermione does for you yourself, I expect," he added tentatively.

Harry smiled darkly.

"Yes, though I suspect for very different reasons."

"Hurry up, Remus," snarled Black, who was still watching Scabbers with vicious hunger burning in his eyes.

"I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there." Lupin said, "Well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did. That's how we came to write the Marauder's Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs."

"That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?" Hermione demanded scolding shrilly.

"A thought that still haunts me," said Lupin heavily. "And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless—carried away with our own cleverness. I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore's trust, of course. He had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others' safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month's adventure. And I haven't changed." Lupin's face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his voice. "All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn't do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I'd betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd led others along with me... And Dumbledore's trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it. So, in a way, Snape's been right about me all along."

Lupin glanced over at the potion's master who was looking nearly as murderous as Harry but had stopped struggling for the moment and instead was silently mouthing words his attention fixed on the scene before him.

Harry suspected he was probably cursing them all and thinking of creative ways to use them as potions ingredients. The thought sparked a hint of dark amusement, and he huffed out a small laugh.

The others spared him a wary glance before turning their attention back to Lupin and his story.

"Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons and they are valid ones, more or less. You see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me—"

Black made a derisive noise.

"It served him right," he sneered, "Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to. Hoping he could get us expelled."

Snape bared his teeth in a silent snarl.

"Severus was very interested in where I went every month." Lupin told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "We were in the same year, you know, and we—er—didn't like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Anyway Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be—er—amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he'd be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it—if he'd got as far as this house, he'd have met a fully grown werewolf—but your father, who'd heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life. Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was..."

"So that's why Snape doesn't like you," said Hermione her brain clearly off connecting some dots, "Because he thought you were in on the joke?"

"That is one of the larger reasons, but it isn't the only one by a long road," Lupin said.

Black made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

"The whole thing with Snape started because of Wormtail, thinking back on it. It was on the train, James stood up for him against Snape, trounced the greasy git good. Of course Snape retaliated, so we played a prank on him…"

"James and Sirius often singled Severus out for their pranks and childish taunting, after that, and in his turn Severus was always attempting to hex them or get them in serious trouble," Lupin added, "But we're getting off topic,"

"So, let me see if I have this right, Professor, you believe that Scabbers, Ron's rat, is Peter Pettigrew in his transformed state?"

"Yes, as we said before," Lupin agreed.

"Which would mean that you didn't murder him and are innocent of the crime they sent you to Azkaban for," Hermione continued pointing at Black.

"You have no proof that this particular rat is Pettigrew," Harry pointed out, "I remain unconvinced,"

"Then it's time we offered you some proof," said Lupin, "If you let me up there's a spell—"

"No!" Ron exclaimed clutching Scabbers closer to his chest.

"Ron?" said Lupin gently.

"Come off it," he said weakly. "Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean..." He looked up at Harry and Hermione for support, "Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat—there are millions of rats—how's he supposed to know which one he's after if he was locked up in Azkaban?"

"You know, Sirius, that's a fair question," said Lupin, turning to Black and frowning slightly. "How did you find out where he was?"

"Left pocket of my robes. You, girl, Hermione, wasn't it? There's newspaper clipping there,"

Gingerly Hermione set Crookshanks down and moving closer to Black she reached inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which she smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers.

Hermione moved to show Snape the photo and he glared at her lethally. She flinched and bent down to show the clipping to Lupin, who stared at it with wide eyes.

"How did you get this?" Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck.

"Fudge," said Black. "When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page on this boy's shoulder. I knew him at once. How many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts...To where Harry was..."

"My God," said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again.

"His front paw..."

"What about it?" said Ron defiantly.

"He's got a toe missing," said Black.

"Of course," Lupin breathed, "So simple. So brilliant. He cut it off himself?"

"Just before he transformed," said Black. "When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself—and sped down into the sewer with the other rats."

"Didn't you ever hear, Ron?" said Lupin. "The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger."

"Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He's been in my family for ages, right—"

"Twelve years, in fact," said Lupin. "Didn't you ever wonder why he was living so long?"

"We—we've been taking good care of him!" said Ron.

"Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?" said Lupin. "I'd guess he's been losing weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again."

"He's been scared of that mad cat!" said Ron, nodding toward Crookshanks, who was purring as he reclaimed his former spot in Black's lap.

"No," Harry said thoughtfully, "We went with Hermione to get an owl because you wanted some rat tonic for Scabbers. He'd been looking ill since you'd been to Egypt, and Hermione bought Crookshanks on that day,"

Ron looked like he wanted to argue some more but he couldn't.

"This cat isn't mad," said Black hoarsely. "He's the most intelligent of his kind I've ever met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me. Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he's been helping me."

"What do you mean?" breathed Hermione.

"He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn't, so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for me. As I understand it, he took them from a boy's bedside table."

Harry was more than convinced that what Black and Lupin were saying was true but he could care less about the murder of the muggles, he wanted blood for the traitor who'd sold his adoptive parents out to Voldemort and Black had already admitted he was the one.

"But Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it." croaked Black. "This cat—Crookshanks, did you call him?—told me Peter had left blood on the sheets. I supposed he bit himself. Well, faking his own death had worked once."

"And why should I care about Pettigrew and his theatrics?" Harry said in a low dangerous voice, "What I want is to take vengeance on the one who betrayed Lily and James and that Black, was you."

"No, Harry," said Lupin hurriedly, "Don't you see? All this time we've thought Sirius betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down—but it was the other way around, don't you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father—Sirius tracked Peter down—"

"This trash was their secret keeper," Harry snarled with enough viciousness to make Lupin flinch into the floor, "They trusted him and he killed them, he's already admitted to it, and I'll see his blood run. Or are you going to deny it now?"

Harry demanded moving off the bed to stand over Black.

Black shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over-bright.

"Harry...I as good as killed them," he croaked. "I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. I'm to blame, I know it. The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies... I realized what Peter must've done... What I'd done..."

His voice broke. He turned away. Harry bent down and grabbed Black by the chin forcing his head around to face him.

"Look me in the eyes," Harry crooned.

Sirius looked into those poisonous green eyes so soft and deceptively sleepy they were glazed not with boredom or exhaustion but unfeeling brutality. They weren't human eyes and they weren't even animalistic in their rage as he'd sometimes seen Remus'. He shivered a bit.

"Everything has a price," Harry said stroking the convict's unkempt hair away from his skeletal face with a tenderness that was somehow more frightening than the violence he'd displayed previously.

"Enough of this," said Lupin.

There was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard before and the Warlord Prince laughed mockingly.

"So he's yours then, wolf,"

Lupin flushed slightly a warning growl rising in his throat.

"He was, once," he bit out through gritted teeth.

Harry laughed again, "I won't touch, for the moment."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione interjected warily, "You said there was a spell you could do…"

"Yes," Lupin said with a grim nod, "There's one certain way to prove what really happened. If you let me up and give me the use of my wand I can cast it on that rat and then we'd know for sure."

"What would the spell do to him?" Ron asked Lupin tensely.

"Force him to show himself," said Lupin. "If he really is a rat, it won't hurt him."

"Harry?" asked Hermione in a quiet voice.

Harry considered the two wizards lying prone on either side of him. Even with their wands he could overpower them and it wasn't as if they could escape the room. With a thought the phantom hands dissolved away.

Lupin sat up tentatively and took his wand from Hermione with a small nod of thanks.

"Harry?" Black asked a glimmer of something like hope in the depths of his grey eyes as he too found himself able to move.

"Convince me," he ordered softly handing the gaunt man Snape's wand.

"Ron, may I please see your rat?"

Ron hesitated. Then at long last, he held out Scabbers and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head.

"Ready, Sirius?" said Lupin.

Black approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face.

"Together?" he said quietly.

"I think so," said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other.

"On the count of three."

"One—"

"Two—"

"THREE!"

A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small gray form twisting madly—Ron yelled—the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then—it was like watching a film of a growing tree on fast-forward. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the floor; the hair on his back was standing up.

He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers' fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry watched his eyes dart to the door and back again, the action scraping against his already frayed temper.

"Well, hello, Peter," said Lupin with feral courtesy, "Long time, no see."

"S-Sirius...R-Remus..." stuttered the man fearfully, "My friends...My old friends..."

Even Pettigrew's voice was as squeaky as it had been when he was in rat form. Again, his eyes darted toward the door.

"Don't bother," Harry said sharply, "You can't escape, Pettigrew."

Black's wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning took, then turned again to Pettigrew, his voice deceptively light and casual.

"We've been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed—"

"Remus," gasped Pettigrew, "You don't believe him, do you? He tried to kill me, Remus!"

Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, he reeked of fear and stale body odor and there was something sour and off about his psychic scent.

"So we've heard," said Lupin, more coldly. "I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so—"

"He's come to try and kill me again!" Pettigrew squealed suddenly, pointing at Black, and Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. "He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too! You've got to help me, Remus!"

Black's expression had grown more chilling than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.

"No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out," said Lupin.

"Sorted things out?" squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. "I knew he'd come after me! I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!"

"You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?" said Lupin skeptically, arching one brow, "When nobody has ever done it before?"

"He's got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!" Pettigrew shouted shrilly. "How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!"

Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room.

"Voldemort, teach me tricks?" he said.

Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him.

"What, scared to hear your old master's name?" said Black. "I don't blame you, Peter. His lot aren't very happy with you, are they?"

"Don't know what you mean, Sirius—" muttered Pettigrew, his breathing growing fast and irregular, his face positively dripping in his nervous sweat.

"You haven't been hiding from me for twelve years," said Black, "You've been hiding from Voldemort's old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter. They all think you're dead, or you'd have to answer to them. I've heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters' on your information... And Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort's supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they've seen the error of their ways. If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter—"

"Don't know... What you're talking about..." said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever.

He mopped at his face with one grimy sleeve and looked up at Lupin pleadingly.

"You don't believe this—this madness, Remus—"

"I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat," said Lupin evenly.

"Innocent, but scared!" squealed Pettigrew fervently, "If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban—the spy, Sirius Black!"

Black's face contorted.

"How dare you," he growled, sounding suddenly like the bear-sized dog he had been. "I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter—I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us. Me and Remus...and James."

Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath.

"Me, a spy... Must be out of your mind... Never... Don't know how you can say such a—"

"Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it," Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. "I thought it was the perfect plan, a bluff. Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you. It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters."

Pettigrew was muttering distractedly under his breath as he wrung his hands together; Harry caught words like 'far-fetched' and 'lunacy' but he didn't believe the former rat's feeble protestations for a second. The ashen color of Pettigrew's face and the way his eyes continued to dart toward the windows and door told Harry more than anything else that Black was telling the truth.

"Professor Lupin?" said Hermione timidly. "Can—can I say something?"

"Certainly, Hermione," said Lupin courteously.

"Well—Scabbers—I mean, this—this man—he's been sleeping in Harry's dormitory for three years. If he's working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?"

"There!" said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Ron with his maimed hand. "Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair of Harry's head! Why should I?"

"I'll tell you why," said Black. "Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort's been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he's half dead. You weren't about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, for a wreck of a wizard who'd lost all of his power, were you? You'd want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn't you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren't you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him."

Pettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to talk.

"Er—Mr. Black—Sirius?" said Hermione.

Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Hermione as though he had never seen anything quite like her.

"If you don't mind me asking, how—how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?"

"Thank you!" gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. "Exactly! Precisely what I—"

But Lupin silenced him with a look. Black was frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as though he were annoyed with her. He seemed to be pondering his answer.

"I don't know how I did it," he said slowly. "I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't suck it out of me. But it kept me sane and knowing who I am, all the same. Helped me keep my powers. So when it all became too much I could transform in my cell. Become a dog. Dementors can't see, you know..." He swallowed. "They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions. They could tell that my feelings were less—less human, less complex when I was a dog but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn't trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand. Then I saw Peter in that picture and I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry... He was perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again."

Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though hypnotized.

"Ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies and to deliver the last Potter to them. If he gave them Harry, who'd dare say he'd betrayed Lord Voldemort? He'd be welcomed back with honors. So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive."

"The guards said you'd been talking in your sleep," Harry commented thinking back on what he'd heard from eavesdropping on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, "Always the same words... 'He's at Hogwarts. '…It was why everyone at the ministry was so convinced you were coming after me."

Sirius nodded.

"It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn't destroy it. It wasn't a happy feeling. It was an obsession. It gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog. It's so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused. I was thin, very thin. Thin enough to slip through the bars. I swam as a dog back to the mainland. I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I've been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry..."

He looked at Harry, who cocked his head to the side and studied the man before him.

"Believe me," croaked Black. "Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them."

And Harry believed him.

"Congratulations, Black, you've convinced me," Harry said softly.

"No!"

Pettigrew had fallen to his knees understanding that Harry's agreement had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.

"Sirius—it's me! It's Peter! Your friend! You wouldn't—"

Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled.

"There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them," said Black.

"Remus!" Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. "You don't believe this wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?"

"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter," said Lupin. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?" he said casually over Pettigrew's head.

"Forgive me, Remus," said Black, his eyes dark and haunted as if he could see what his mistrust had cost his friend.

"Not at all, Padfoot, old friend," said Lupin. "And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?"

"Of course," said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face.

"Shall we let Harry have him?"

"Yes, I think so," said Lupin grimly.

"You wouldn't...You won't..." gasped Pettigrew.

And he scrambled around to Ron.

"Ron... Haven't I been a good friend...a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you... You're on my side, aren't you?"

But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion.

"I let you sleep in my bed!" he said.

"Kind boy... Kind master..." Pettigrew crawled toward Ron "You won't let them do it. I was your rat! I was a good pet—"

"If you made a better rat than a human, it's not much to boast about, Peter, " said Black harshly.

Ron, going still paler with pain, wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew's reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione's robes.

Harry snarled at him and the cringing vermin sank even closer to the floor.

"Sweet girl... Clever girl... You—you won't let them... Help me... "

Hermione pulled her robes out of Pettigrew's clutching hands and backed away against the wall, looking horrified.

Both Black and Lupin strode forward, seized Pettigrew's shoulders, and threw him backward onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them.

"You sold Lily and James to Voldemort," said Black, who was shaking too. "Do you deny it?"

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.

"Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord... You have no idea... He has weapons you can't imagine! I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me—"

"DON'T LIE!" bellowed Black. "YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!"

"He—he was taking over everywhere!" gasped Pettigrew. "Wh—what was there to be gained by refusing him?"

"What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?" said Black, with a terrible fury in his face. "Only innocent lives, Peter!"

"You don't understand!" whined Pettigrew. "He would have killed me, Sirius!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

"So,"

Hermione jumped slightly at the sudden unexpected voice and moved closer to Ron. Snape it seemed had managed to counter her silencing charm wandlessly and wordlessly while they'd been busy listening to Black and Lupin tell their stories.

"It was you," hissed Snape, vibrating with fury, his black eyes cold as ice.

"Severus," squealed Pettigrew flinging himself prostrate at Snape's feet, "We served the Dark Lord together, you know what it was like, how he was, please—"

Hermione and Ron both gasped at this revelation, Harry simply watched. Snape didn't seem at all inclined to listen to Pettigrew.

"You," Snape spat, "You are the reason she's dead, you snivelling mote of trash. Rest assured when I get out of this I will obliterate you."

Pettigrew knelt, trembling uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly toward Harry.

"Harry... Harry... You look just like your father... Just like him... "

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?" roared Black. "HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?"

"Harry," whispered Pettigrew, shuffling toward him, hands outstretched. "Harry, James wouldn't have wanted me killed... James would have understood, Harry... He would have shown me mercy... "

Harry turned the full force of his gaze on the traitor, a knife-edged smile curling his lips upwards at the corners. Pettigrew flinched away from that smile towards the opposite wall.

"Perhaps James would have," Harry nodded reasonably, taking a step forward, Pettigrew scrambled backward until his back was pressed flat against the dusty aged boards of spelled oak, "Though I really wouldn't be so sure of that, but in case you haven't noticed, rat, I am not James Potter."

"H-harry, y-you wouldn't, I'm unarmed, helpless, i-it's not the noble thing to do," whimpered Pettigrew his nails scrabbling futilely against the wood behind him as he tried to get further away from Harry's slow stalking advance.

"Do I look like a white knight out of some fairy story to you? You betrayed your only friends, and you tore my family apart with your self-serving cowardice."

"D-don't come any closer! Stay away!"

"Everything has a price, rat. You owe me for Lily and James and you will pay me back in blood and pain, and you will wish I'd just let your old mates kill you before I'm through," Harry promised him.

He took a step back away from Pettigrew's huddled trembling form and the traitor breathed a visible sigh of relief. There was a loud crack like a gunshot and Peter screamed as his tibia splintered. Harry's smile widened and the other occupants of the shack went very pale shivers of fear and nausea crawling up even Snape's spine as they witnessed Harry snap every large bone in Pettigrew's body without touching him or using a wand.

The acrid stench of urine filled the air mingling with the incoherent babbling screams of agony and blinding terror as Pettigrew lost control of his bladder and then finally blacked out from pain.

"Oh dear," said Harry, his voice a mocking sing-song, "It seems that Mr. Pettigrew here ran afoul of the Whomping Willow while attempting to escape, good thing he doesn't need bones to talk. We can use his worthless carcass to have Black exonerated and then he can have a lovely sabbatical with the dementors before I get back to hurting him."

Harry turned to the shell-shocked and vaguely ill looking group arrayed behind him and cocked his head to the side still smiling softly.

"Won't that be nice?"

* * *

**AN: **Whew! Long chapter! Lots of canon text again and I apologize for that but I hope you all enjoyed despite that fact!

So, I had this chapter halfway done when my laptop was most cruelly stolen from me and I lost all of my work fom the previous six months. Ironically however this may have turned out to be a good thing for this particular story because after rewriting this chapter from scratch I have a different idea of where I want to go with this story and it's a change that will get Harry into the Black Jewels worlds much sooner than I had originally planned which I'm sure you're all over the moon to hear.

Anywho, drop me a review to let me know what you guys think of this latest installment and I'll see you all on the next go around!


	8. Chapter 8: The Oath for the Explanation

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Eight: The Oath for the Explanation**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Black Jewels Novels in any way shape or form. Anything you recognize was transcribed from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and is really not mine.

**Author's Note:** First of all thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and favourite! Love you guys!

Welcome back and hey, check it out, a reasonable, if not ideal, interval between updates! Not even a month of wait time, you guys should feel privileged! No, seriously, you should this is spectacular regularity for me. Anywho, please enjoy!

* * *

"Er—whatever you say, mate," Ron said looking to break the sudden silence.

His voice was a full octave higher than usual and broke a little in the middle.

There was another significant pause and then Harry laughed. A real laugh filled with real amusement, his bright eyes losing that glazed look as he backed away from the Killing Edge, satisfied for the moment at the damage he'd done.

"Right," said Lupin, suddenly businesslike. "Ron, I can't mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I think it's best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing."

He hurried over to Ron, bent down, tapped Ron's leg with his wand, and muttered, "_Ferula_." And if his hands shook slightly, no one would comment on it.

Bandages spun up Ron's leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Ron put his weight gingerly on the leg and didn't wince.

"That's better," he said. "Thanks."

Exhaustion hit him hard and Harry leaned heavily against the wall and focussed on breathing for a long moment and closing his eyes.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Hermione moving to his sime touching his arm tentatively.

Harry managed to raise his eyelids to half-mast gave her a wan, reassuring smile.

"Tired, I used too much craft," he said, "I'll be alright after a meal and some sleep."

"You're yourself again," Hermione said with a surprised blink.

She threw her arms around him and attempted to squeeze him to death. Ron hobbled over quickly, yanking Harry out of Hermione's death grip to examine him himself.

"She's right, you're you! Thank Merlin," Ron breathed, pulling Harry into a brief but fierce hug of his own, "Bloody hell, mate! What was all that?"

"The Killing Edge," Harry answered with a long sigh scraping a hand through his hair and looking up at the warped wooden boards of the ceiling as if they held all the answers, "Mother Night, how do I explain this?"

"Wait, Harry, don't say anything yet," Hermione said her voice firm, she turned to the three adults in the room and glared at each of them fiercely in turn, "I want everyone here to swear a Wizard's Oath that they won't say anything about what really happened here tonight, anything about Harry and his…split personality. Swear that you'll stick to the agreed upon cover story and never reveal the full truth."

Surprisingly it was Black who was the first to move, bringing his hand up to cover his heart.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, do hereby vow to keep the secrets revealed to me this day about the true nature of Harry James Potter, Last Scion of the House of Potter, and to never reveal them in any manner to any being, living or dead. On my magic I so swear, may it hold me to my Oath."

Black's hand glowed gold for one brief moment and the air suddenly began to crackle as the others began to swear their oaths their voices overlapping one and other.

"I, Hermione Jane Granger, do hereby vow—"

"I, Remus John Lupin, Son of the Moon, do hereby vow—"

"I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Son of the House of Weasley, do hereby vow—"

"What about Professor Snape?" said Hermione.

Harry gave Snape a cold glare. Snape glared back. They remained locked at the eyes like that for a good long while.

"If you swear the oath I'll release you, if you don't I'll make your brains leak out your ears and tell everyone Pettigrew did it," Harry said pleasantly, hands on his slim hips.

"You don't dare. You need me to corroborate your story, Potter, if you want Black to go free," Snape snarled quietly

"Not really," Harry shrugged, "Sure it would help a lot but Pettigrew himself really throws the whole thing into doubt, and he'll sing like a bloody canary if I have to grind his bones to make my bloody bread."

"You've seen what Harry can do Severus," Lupin said, his voice deceptively casual, "You're a Slytherin through and through, and I think you realize that the only way you are making it out of this room with your skin intact is if you swear this oath, so grow a pair and do it."

With a scowl the potions master grudgingly dropped his gaze from Harry's, shot a sidelong glare that promised retribution at Lupin, and spat out the oath.

"There," Hermione said glancing around at the assembled, with a brisk, satisfied nod, "Now, Harry, what in the name of Merlin was all that about?" she demanded, hands on her hips and a dangerous glint in her eyes, unconsciously mirroring Harry.

"Well, to start with, I should probably tell you all that I'm not Lily and James Potter's child."

The fallout of this statement was loud vehement denial from everyone.

"But Harry, you play Quidditch just as well as your dad, and everyone says you look just like him," Ron said.

Snape gave a derisive snort, "As much as it pains me to agreed, Mr. Weasley is correct in saying that the majority of your personality mirrors the ignorant arrogance of James Potter."

"Rubbish," Sirius snapped, whether to Snape's or Harry's comment it was difficult to say.

"Impossible," Remus agreed assuming the latter, "I was there when you were born, we both were, Sirius and I, and scent doesn't lie and your scent has barely changed from when you were a child except perhaps to become richer."

Harry shook his head.

"They must have staged the birth, because I was born in Kaeleer, according to Lorn."

"Who's Lorn?" asked Ron.

"He's the one who taught me all of this," Harry gestured around the Shack broadly.

"He taught you how to be a nutjob? No offence."

"No, Ron, the spells. The nutjob thing I had pretty much covered on my own," Harry said wryly, shaking his head, "Lorn though, he taught me the spells, basic craft, he calls it. I met him when I was quite young, about eight, and he told me what I was and started teaching me all kinds of stuff. He's the one that told me Lily and James Potter weren't my birth parents. They found me, took me in, and loved me as their own, so of course they were my family, but they didn't conceive me at all. I'm betting my appearance is some kind of illusion. Professor Flitwick said Lily Potter was the best charms student he'd ever had the pleasure of teaching and from what we heard tonight I know that James was brilliant at Transfiguration, between the two of them it would have been simple."

Hermione's hand shot up.

"Er—I don't think that hand-raising is really necessary 'Mione, we're not in class and you're not being graded on this," Harry pointed out.

Hermione shot him an annoyed look and Harry bit his lip on the smile that threatened.

"Where's Kaeleer? I've never heard of it and I memorized all the countries and major cities in the Oxford Atlas when I was in fourth grade."

"It's a vampire name," Snape pointed out, "Their capital is called Kae Sangra."

"I don't know all that much about vampires, but Kaeleer is a Realm. It's…a dimension I guess you could call it, separate from this world but connected at one point called the Last Gate. The way I think about it is a bit like a raisin bun, the bun part is the Abyss and the Realms are like the raisins. Where the raisins touch are the thin points between the Realms and that's where the gates are."

"But Harry, there's no evidence beyond the mathematical to suggest that any such thing exists and even the mathematical evidence is completely theoretical with no testable predictions. How do you know this is even true? This Lorn person could just be a very powerful Dark Wizard trying to lead you astray." Hermione said worriedly.

"I know because Lorn and I met in the Abyss."

"How did you get to this…Abyss?" asked Lupin looking alarmed.

"And when you were only eight," added Sirius, equally perturbed.

"It's hard to explain, but it's not a place you can just walk to, in fact it's not really a place, it's a place that's not a place. People like me are connected to it but it is...it's like it's too much for a mind to comprehend so if you go too far down you can break yourself."

Harry shivered at the memory, the feeling of cracks forming in his Self as he hurtled down his thread in the Abyss, terrified and out of control.

"What is it like? Can you describe it?" asked Hermione looking fascinated.

"I can't go very deep at all," Harry warned, "But my thread, again it's hard to describe, but it's pitch dark there. Above there's a light, that's where my body is, and it's a bit like a wide tunnel going straight down. Below there are markers that denote, power level for lack of a better word. The deepest any of the Blood can go is just beyond the Black Web."

"The Blood? Is that what 'people like you' are called Potter?" sneered Snape, "How pretentious."

"Legend says that's how we got our power and the ability to go to the Abyss, that only the Old Ones, the Dragons, had the ability before us and when their race died out their last Queen shed her dragon skin as she flew through the Realms and any creature that consumed her blood became like her, and different from their parent races. Kindred but not Kind."

"So you're saying that you drank dragon's blood and became like this?" Lupin said skeptically.

"Not me," Harry said shaking his head, "An ancestor very far removed, and not any dragon's blood, the dragons today are like pale shadows of the dragons I'm talking about. Anyway, we're getting off topic, if you want to argue about my sanity later, feel free, I just want to get this out and go back to the castle."

"Sorry, Harry," Lupin said, "Please continue."

"The Blood are born with castes, I won't go into the details but I am what's called a Warlord Prince," Harry held up a hand to forestall Snape's inevitable comment, "I didn't make up the name, it's another relic from ancient history."

"What does that mean, being a Warlord Prince?" Ron asked.

"It means I'm…volatile," Harry said, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Volatile?" Hermione queried arching a brow.

"Yeah, what you guys saw today, the Blood call it the Killing Edge, and it's just what it sounds like. Warlord Princes walk very close to that line, all the time. It's a part of what makes us who we are."

"Is there any way to keep it from happening again?" asked Ron, "Cause you're pretty out of control when you're like that, mate, and if you kill someone they'll lock you up. Bloody hell, if you just did that wandless magic stuff the press would call you a Dark Wizard and they'd lock you up, no violence needed."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and grimaced.

"I know. This is why there are no laws against murder among the Blood."

"You mean they can just go around killing people without anyone batting an eye! That's awful!" Hermione screeched.

"Of course they can't!" Harry snapped, "If that were the case we'd have wiped ourselves out a long time ago. If you kill someone and get caught you pay the price, whether it be to their Queen or their family."

"You guys have queens?"

"The Queens are a female caste. The Blood are matriarchal, and Queens are the ruling caste."

This comment seemed to please Hermione who stood a bit straighter.

"So are there are a lot of these Queens then?" asked Lupin interestedly.

"Enough," Harry said, "Which actually brings me back to Ron's question. Warlord Princes are the way that we are because we serve and protect the Queens, it's an instinct ingrained so deeply in us that it's almost a physical need."

"When Hermione asked you to spare Severus' life, you called her Lady," Remus commented, "I thought it odd that you used such an address especially in that situation, does it mean something?"

"Lady is the proper way for a male to formally address any female. It's a part of this Protocol that is not quite outright law but that is almost universally used among the Blood keeps day-to-day interactions fairly civilized. There is a distinct hierarchy based on Jewel strength, caste and social position, and Protocol is a series of checks and balances that are meant keep the strong from taking advantage of the weak."

"So if we wanted to stop you from killing someone, are you saying Ron or I could use this protocol thing to do that?" Hermione asked.

"Ron, no. If I'm riding the Killing Edge and another male challenges me I'm liable to try and slaughter him. Hermione, however…it's a double-edged sword," Harry said after a long pause.

"How so?" asked Black, "She's a girl, and you said girls boss boys around, so if she bosses you don't you have to listen?"

"If I serve Hermione, even if it's informal service, Protocol gives her the right to boss me as Black says, but it gives me leave to fuss over and protect her, which means that if, for example, Professor Snape were to call her an insufferable know-it-all again I would rise to the Killing Edge and Protocol grants me the right to rip out his lying tongue. If she then ordered me not to take any action against Professor Snape for the insult I could still do it and beg forgiveness afterward or leave her service and it wouldn't be a breach of Protocol. My decision would depend on the threat level to Hermione and my own level of self-control at the time."

"That's…bloody hell!" Ron said.

"It's complicated, I know, and far too lenient in the way of traditional morals," Harry agreed, "And that's just basic Protocol. There are all kinds of rules about how to interact in a Court. Lorn is training me how to be a proper escort when he has the time and energy."

"How do I do it? Request your informal service I mean. Is there a ceremony or some sort of ritual?" asked Hermione quietly.

"No, you just can ask me whenever," Harry said, "Take the time to think it over though, don't just jump in."

Black tried to scrape one hand through the tangle of his long black hair and grimaced when his fingers snarled in the matted mass of curls.

"I saw the magic and the violence with my own eyes and I'm still not entirely sure I can believe it. You just are so much like your parents."

"I too find your story difficult to swallow, Potter," Snape said fingering his wand as though he'd dearly like to curse Harry, "I would like to run my own tests to determine its veracity."

"Alright," Harry agreed with a nod, "As long as Hermione and Professor Lupin are there to supervise, I don't want to end up poisoned after all."

Snape's upper lip curled into a familiar sneer but he didn't confirm or deny the possibility of poison being involved so Harry thought this was probably a wise plan.

"Well," Lupin said into the silence that followed, "It's late and we aren't going to get any more answers tonight."

"We should get back to the castle, Professor Dumbledore needs to know about Pettigrew and the Aurors need to be called…" Hermione said trailing off with a headshake of the sheer enormity of the storm they had inadvertently unleashed washed over her.

"Ron needs the Hospital Wing, so do you 'Mione," Harry agreed fixing narrowed eyes on her blood-stained shirt.

"So do _you_, Harry James Potter," she retorted.

"Or whatever your name is," teased Ron.

"Graeson," Harry said.

"What's that?"

"My name, the one my birth mother gave me, is Graeson Moray SaDiablo."

Ron wrinkled his nose a bit, "Makes you sound like one of those snooty purebloods, like Malfoy."

Harry pulled a face.

"Don't be rude Ronald, it's a perfectly lovely name, if a bit of a mouthful," Hermione reassured him.

"Grae," said Black thoughtfully, "It's as good a nickname as any."

Harry shrugged.

"Use it or don't, as you like, I'm used to Harry by this point so, whatever."

"If we could return to the task at hand," Snape interrupted frostily.

"Right, we need to think of a cover story and get back to the castle before anything else happens," Hermione agreed.

"And two of us should be chained to this," said Black, jerking his head toward Pettigrew, "Just to make sure he doesn't escape again."

"He's not going anywhere," scoffed Harry.

"Better safe than sorry," said Black shooting the rat a dark look.

"I'll do it," said Lupin.

"And me," said Ron savagely, limping forward.

Ron's face was set. He seemed to have taken Scabbers' true identity as a personal insult.

"Lupin," Snape said in a tone that suggested Lupin was a complete and utter moron, "There is a full moon tonight. Furthermore, as it is what got me embroiled in this mess, I am certain you haven't had any Wolfsbane. Needless to say you will be remaining here."

Lupin paled and then flushed.

"I'd forgotten," he said quietly glancing at the fading light filtering through the boards on the windows.

"I'll stay with you tonight, Remy," Black said tossing Snape back his wand, "If I show up at the castle I'll just be hauled off in chains and Kissed before I can get a word in edgewise."

"Just what tale are we weaving for the authorities?"

"I was out late intending to pay my condolences to Hagrid over the execution of his Hippogriff you, Severus, were accompanying me to make sure I returned to my office and took my potion in good time, when I spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione, chasing Ron's rat. I recognized the rat as my old school friend's Animagus form and performed the revealing charm on him. Severus and I interrogated him and he confessed to having been Lily and James' secret keeper. We agreed to turn him in to the proper authorities and he panicked and attempted to flee. He ran into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and was gravely injured before we could freeze the tree and the children received their injuries trying to stop him. I spent the night in the Shack unable to return to the castle in time for the Wolfsbane to be effective and you returned with Pettigrew and the children. Is that acceptable?" suggested Lupin.

"Quite," Snape said with a brusque nod.

Snape conjured heavy manacles from thin air along with a sturdy floating stretcher; soon Pettigrew was lying there, properly stunned instead of merely insensible with pain, and wrapped in thick iron chains.

"Let's go."

The teens murmured their goodnights and good lucks, mostly to Lupin as they still didn't know Black that well and got ready to finally leave the Shrieking Shack.

Crookshanks, sensing their readiness, leapt lightly off the bed and led the way out of the room, his bottle-brush tail held jauntily high. Snape floated Pettigrew along in front, his wand raised high and his black robes billowing out behind him. The three Gryffindors trailed behind him in a bizarre procession.

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**AN:** More explanation and reactions, it seems this takes a whole heck of a lot of explaining, but less canon text in this chapter! For those of you who have been waiting with bated breath the real plot is starting and we'll be moving further into Black Jewels territory within the next three or so chapters. Also for those of you who spotted the Hermione/Lady plot point, here have a pancake!

Please leave a review for an ill, overworked and exhausted author and let me know how you found it!


	9. Chapter 9: Blood and Family

**The Lost One**

**Chapter Nine: Blood Doesn't Always Mean Family**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or The Black Jewels Novels.

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, what can I say, the rumours of my untimely death have been greatly exaggerated and I am now back with an update! First of all thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and favourite. You guys are awesome! Secondly, what are you still doing up here listening to me ramble on? Go forth and read!

* * *

When Harry woke he barely recognized the infirmary at first. The blurred outline of cauldrons on small bluebell flames and the sound of chopping sizzling and bubbling didn't exactly fit with the familiar feel of starched spell-sanitized sheets and flimsy hospital pajamas.

"Great, I'm gonna be chopped up and used as potions ingredients," he muttered eying the bubbling cauldrons and other potion related paraphernalia warily.

A quick psychic tendril confirmed that he was in fact in the infirmary and that he wasn't alone by any stretch.

"Relax Potter. No self-respecting potions master would stoop so low as to use ingredients of such inferior quality."

Harry groped for his glasses, unsurprised to see Snape and Hermione slaving over the triad of cauldrons, expressions of tense concentration on their faces. Beyond the shield of the bed curtains hiding the potions from view Harry could see Ron who was sitting up in the bed across the way. His leg was still held straight and immobile but it was free of its splint and bandages and Ron was looking far less pale.

Lupin, who was lounging in the bed next to Harry, was looking tired but happy. There were a few new scratches on his face and arms but he looked to be in far better shape than after the previous full moon. He seemed less thin and more energetic. Harry had no doubt that this was because of the gigantic black dog that was resting at the foot of his bed his head on his paws, one of them wrapped in a magical bandage, and his grey eyes watching Snape's every move.

"What happened?" asked Harry.

It looked as though he'd been asleep for a good long while and his memory of leaving the Shrieking Shack and making his way up to the castle was hazy and unclear.

"You passed out," Hermione explained briskly, adding a bit of fine powder to the cauldron she was overseeing, unperturbed by Snape's watchful gaze as she continued stirring. "As soon as we got to the infirmary you just sort of crumpled to the floor."

"Gave us a right scare too," added Ron.

"Madam Pomfrey said it was because you were suffering from acute magical exhaustion."

"With all the wandless magic you were throwing around yesterday I don't know why we were all so surprised," Ron snorted, "But since we had Pettigrew with us they didn't pay you much mind or ask any questions, they just sort of dumped you in a bed and left you there."

"They did that for all of us actually," Hermione said, "Madam Pomfrey had a hard time getting Pettigrew stable enough to be transported to St. Mungo's. Did you really snap every bone in his body?"

"I really did," said Harry laconically.

Hermione and Ron both winced but after a moment Hermione continued, "They transferred him to St. Mungo's the day before yesterday. Sirius is officially pardoned as well, thanks to Professor Snape."

Snape looked ill at the thought.

"I can assure you, allowing that mongrel to walk free was never my intention," he sneered.

From his spot on the bed Sirius lifted his head and growled at Snape, exposing his long canines.

"Easy Padfoot," soothed Lupin.

"Not to worry professor," Harry snorted, "I don't think any of us were under any illusions about your intentions."

"In any case," interrupted Hermione, "The whole school's been in an uproar following the build up of evidence against Pettigrew and the start of the trial in the Prophet. Professor Snape was able to use a combination of veritaserum and mind magics to extract the memories of the night your parents died from Pettigrew before they woke him up to testify on his own behalf, and of course everyone has seen the Dark Mark on his arm now."

"The Dark Mark?" queried Harry.

"It's _his_ mark, all the deatheaters have it," Hermione explained, "Honestly Harry, don't you ever read?"

"Then do you have it, professor?" Harry asked, turning to Snape.

"Harry that's not really polite—" Lupin started to say but he was interrupted by Snape's imperious hand.

Snape, for his part, yanked up his left sleeve with a snarl and arched one narrow black brow at Harry as if daring him to comment.

"Satisfied Potter?"

Harry leaned forward to get a better look at the mark, it was almost like a tattoo a red outline of a snake slithering out of a skull and if it weren't for the fact that the longer Harry stared at it the more he was convinced it was moving he would have thought it an ordinary bit of tasteless body art.

"What does it do?" he asked curiously, he didn't really expect that Snape would answer him but he knew that Hermione or Lupin probably would.

To Harry's surprise though, Snape gave a put upon sigh, yanked down his sleeve and returned his attention to his potion, but he spoke anyways in his slow, faintly mocking, lecturing voice.

"The Dark Mark is a brand of ownership. It proclaims the deatheaters the Dark Lord's property and it ties them to him for life. Once you are marked there is no escape from him. He can find you anywhere, summon you from anywhere, and the brand is impossible to remove."

"So that makes you a deatheater then, why aren't you in prison?" asked Harry casually.

"It became clear to me early on in my service to the Dark Lord was not the man I'd been led to believe he was, that all was not as it seemed, that I had bound myself to a monster with a pretty face and a silver tongue, but as I have said there is no escape from the Dark Lord's service outside of death. I could not simply walk away from the mess I'd landed myself in. I was forced to serve and endure. When I reached the end of my tolerance I turned myself over to Dumbledore and he offered me the chance to redeem myself by spying for his little resistance group. When the Dark Lord fell I was put on trial and, with Dumbledore's backing, absolved of my crimes."

Harry hummed a bit, turning Snape's story over in his mind. He wanted to ask about how Snape had known Lily, he remembered all too clearly how Snape had reacted to the knowledge that Pettigrew had been the one to betray Lily and James, but seeing the dark expression written on his professor's face he decided to save his questions for another time.

"How long have I been asleep then if the trial is already progressing?" he asked, changing the subject.

"You've been out of it for four days," Lupin answered, "Truthfully we were beginning to worry about you."

"You're actually quite lucky that this whole business with Pettigrew is causing such a stir," said Hermione, "Professor Dumbledore has been gone all this week. He was called in to testify about the Fidelius Charm he performed for the Potters and then of course since he's a member of the Wizengamot he's been down at the ministry, otherwise he'd be asking questions about just how Pettigrew got into his current state. Professor Snape and Professor Lupin both gave their testimonies, of course, and the aurors did some investigating of their own, but I think Dumbledore suspects there's more to this than just what we've told him."

"Let him wonder," said Harry dismissively, "He won't be able to divine the truth and nobody who knows the truth will tell him."

"Anyway, we're going to have to appear in court at some point too," said Hermione, "As soon as Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey declare us legitimate witnesses."

"They have to make sure that Pettigrew hasn't been mucking around with our heads," added Ron darkly.

"Is that what all this is for then?" Harry asked gesturing at the potions set up around his bed.

"No," answered Hermione before anyone else could, "It's just Professor Snape's excuse for brewing in the infirmary."

"I did say I was going to perform my own tests to verify your little tale, Potter, and I shall."

"What kind of potion are you brewing?" asked Harry eying the cauldrons with a new wariness.

"Not to worry Harry, we've been supervising Severus for the entire process, the potions are harmless," said Lupin catching Harry's dubious look.

Snape shot Lupin a glare.

"Miss. Granger, and I are brewing a combination of a genealogy potion and a revealing draft," Snape explained, "This particular combination is often used in the weaving of family tapestries for the purebloods. It reveals a person's family ties."

"By increasing the potency of the potion you can create a detailed family tree going back generations, it is a positively fascinating process," added Hermione, her eyes glittering with the light of newfound knowledge.

Harry and Ron shared a tolerantly amused look over the top of her bushy brown curls.

"This brew will be able to determine whether or not you are the biological child of Lily and James Potter and in turn either verify or disprove your claims," said Snape.

"We're almost done now, all we need is a sample of your blood to add to the genealogy potion and we can find out who your parents and grandparents are and a little bit about them. Of course we only had so much time so the potion will only go back four generations but still, you'll get the chance to learn even more about your birth family!" Hermione elaborated excitedly.

"You actually woke up just in the nick of time, mate," said Ron, "They were just going to stick you and be done with it."

Harry raised a brow at Hermione who didn't deny Ron's claim but had the grace to at least look abashed, unlike Snape.

"Sorry Harry," she said, "But I would have totally recorded the results and told you everything!"

"It's fine, Mione," sighed Harry shaking his head, some things would change after all but not Hermione's quest for more knowledge, "Right, so, you need my blood to complete the potion then?"

"Indeed," Snape confirmed, "The potion is complete, the blood is merely necessary to identify whose lineage is in question."

Harry nodded. With a bit of concentration he used craft to lengthen his nails and with a flick of his thumb sliced open the pad of his index finger.

"There you go," he offered, holding his hand out.

Snape was quick to snatch Harry's wrist in a grip like a vice and drag him forward on the hospital bed. He then squeezed three drops of Harry's blood into the nearest cauldron.

"And blood will sing to blood," Harry muttered, watching the drops fall.

His blood sizzled as soon as it hit the liquid inside the cauldron and the whole mixture hissed and crackled threateningly for a moment before subsiding into a soft golden colour.

Snape stirred the mixture a few times until his was satisfied with the color and consistency and then carefully removed the cauldron from the flame.

"Miss. Granger, if you would."

Hermione was quick to ladle three large scoops from the cauldron of viscous opaque slime that she had been overseeing into the cauldron that held the genealogy potion. Snape immediately began stirring counting rotations under his breath, his dark brows furrowed in concentration.

Hermione took out a long shallow pewter tray that looked rather like a muggle baking sheet and carefully took the third cauldron off the heat and poured the liquid slowly and evenly into the tray with the help of magic.

Snape continued to stir until the golden liquid in his cauldron had thickened into a soft cream colored paste that put Harry strangely in mind of alfredo sauce. He then set his wooden stirring spoon aside and with a wave of his wand conjured a blast of warm air over the tray. Almost immediately, the liquid in the tray began to harden into a waxy dark purple substance like a bunch of mashed up purple crayon or an unrolled candle.

Snape reached over the cauldron and snatched up a wide paintbrush from the temporary workbench he and Hermione had set up. Carefully he dipped it into the cream colored paste and, careful not to allow any drips, began spreading it over the waxy purple substance in the tray with long even strokes until it coated the waxy substance completely.

"There," he said finally setting the brush aside, a satisfied expression touching his usually glowering face, "It should not be long now."

Everybody got up out of their beds, though Ron needed some help from Hermione because of the spell holding his leg in place, and gathered around the tray of potion, peering down at it in interest. Even Sirius risked returning to his human form to get a proper look.

"Look there, it's moving!" said Ron, pointing.

Even as they watched the creamy paste began to melt away from the waxy substance underneath at top and bottom edges of the tray, revealing a name in simple block lettering.

"Graeson Moray SaDiablo," read Professor Lupin as the full name was revealed near the bottom of the tray.

"Lalitha 'Lala' SaDiablo and…Warrick Tannis," said Hermione squinting at the names nearest to her.

"That'll be your great-grandparents then," said Ron, watching the relatively short but oddly complex family tree evolve, "If this here is you. Read it out from the top would you Mione?"

"Alright, well, according the interpretations shown in the book," said Hermione glancing down at the text for reference, "Lalitha and Warrick were never married but they had one son Saetan SaDiablo, and they both had other children but not with each other so they're not listed. Erm, I don't understand these dates but they both lived an extraordinarily long time, longer than even Nicholas Flamel before they died."

"Intriguing," muttered Snape his dark eyes flicking over the revealed information and probably taking it all in faster than Hermione could explain it.

Harry too, was absorbing it all. Everything revealed so far supported what Lorn had told him of his parentage, if Lalitha had been a whore then Warrick had probably been a customer and he'd never claimed Saetan as his own.

"So your grandfather is Saetan, and he married a woman called Hekatah first and had three sons, the first was Mephis then Peyton and the third one was unnamed and apparently died shortly after birth. After that Hekatah had an extramarital affair with a man called Andulvar Yaslana and they had a son together called Ravenar and he had children but, this line means that they're too far removed from you genetically to show on the tree, oh but an ancestor of that child, Luthvian Yaslana had a child with your grandfather, a son named Lucivar Yaslana."

"Wait, wait," Ron interrupted, "How is that even possible? Wouldn't he be too old to have kids?"

"Er, yes, normally that would be the case, but it seems that he's still living even after thousands of years so that probably has something to do with it. Saetan divorced Hekatah before Ravenar was born and then there are no more entries until she died, which was around the same time as Mephis, Peyton and Ravenar, but Saetan lived."

"Yeah, okay, but how?" demanded Ron.

"It doesn't say, Ronald," snapped Hermione.

Ron glanced over at Harry.

"All I know is that there are three long-lived races in the Realms, and that my grandfather belongs to one of them," said Harry with a shrug.

"What about Harry's birth parents?" asked Lupin, reading the tree carefully, "Luthvian and Saetan didn't get together until long after Peyton was dead."

"Well according to this Peyton only ever had one son, that's Harry, and never married. Harry's mother was Shira, there's no last name mentioned, and she had Graeson, that is, Harry, and then married a man named Zarek and had three other children and lived out a relatively normal lifespan before dying. Mephis had two daughters and a son with his wife but the tree doesn't show more than that and they're all dead."

"What about this entry?" asked Sirius pointing to the tree.

"Ah, that's Harry's grandfather again, Saetan had relations with a woman called Tersa shortly before he was with Luthvian and they also had a son called Saetan Daemon SaDiablo," said Hermione pointing to the relevant branches to illustrate.

"Merlin Harry," whistled Ron, impressed, "Your granddad sure does know how to get around."

"Yeah, it looks that way," agreed Harry studying the names on the tree, committing them to memory.

Reluctantly he turned away from the tree and turned to face Snape, who was eying him carefully.

"Well professor?" Harry challenged, "Are you satisfied that I'm telling the truth?"

"For the moment," said Snape, his lip curling away from his teeth in an impressive sneer, "Whether or not your claims about the nature of your so-called people and the existence of these separate Realms are true or not still remains to be seen."

"Well, I suppose that'll have to be good enough," shrugged Harry.

Snape turned his back on Harry with a small exasperated huff and set to cleaning up his workstation, cleaning out the cauldrons and vanishing the gloop that was quickly becoming encrusted on his utensils.

"I assume that you want to keep this?"

Harry shook his head no, reluctantly.

"But Harry—" protested Hermione, shocked.

"It's not that I don't want to keep it," he said forestalling Hermione's tirade, "It's just a dangerous thing to have, as far as the wizarding world is concerned I am Harry Potter and that's the way it'll have to be for now. Maybe forever."

"Stop being melodramatic," scoffed Snape, even as he vanished the contents of the tray.

"I'm being realistic," Harry snapped, "There are no Blood here, no one has ever heard of us, so I can't just be Graeson SaDiablo, Warlord Prince. Besides which, everybody and their grandmothers know of Harry Potter, he's a symbol, a figurehead as much as anything and corrupting that image is dangerous."

Surprising everybody Sirius moved closer to Harry and gave him a nudge, "Blood doesn't always mean family," he started, "Merlin knows I'll never get on with my relatives, but I found a family who appreciated me for who I am and you've found one two. Me n' Remy, your friends, you don't have to be anyone but yourself with us. I don't know if anyone told you this but when Lily and James staged your birth they named me your godfather."

"I know," answered Harry with a nod.

"So, that is, once my name is cleared, if you wanted, you could stay with me."

Harry's eyes went wide.

"You mean, come live with you?"

Sirius winced, "I understand of course if you'd rather stay with your aunt and uncle—"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I'll come live with you!"

Sirius broke out in a wide smile that made him look ten years younger and for the first time Harry could see the handsome laughing man from his parents' wedding photos in the gaunt emaciated figure before him.

"As touching as this little display is," sneered Snape, "Black, change back into the mutt you are. You can't be caught here before you are exonerated."

Sirius pulled a face but Remus tugged at his hair and fixed him with a stern look.

"Severus is right, and I'm not about to watch you get hauled off to Azkaban again for any length of time."

Sirius gave a reluctant nod of agreement and between one heartbeat and the next a large shaggy black dog was standing where the man had been.

It turned out that Sirius had changed just in the nick of time too because right at that moment Madam Pomfrey came striding in.

"What are you three doing out of bed?" she demanded, hands on her hips, glaring down her nose at the group of them.

"Now Poppy," said Dumbledore soothingly following her into the infirmary at a more sedate pace, casually popping one of his infamous lemon drops into his mouth, "I'm sure they just felt the need to stretch their legs after spending so much time cooped up in bed."

"You Mr. Weasley should not be doing leg stretching of any kind," snapped Madam Pomfrey, "I'll not be pleased if I have to re-mend a crooked leg just because you were impatient. And you two," she added rounding upon Harry and Remus, "You are both far too exhausted to be wandering about, I've been lenient allowing that dog, but on this I will not be swayed! Back in bed, the lot of you!"

Obediently the three supposed invalids crawled back into their beds shooting each other wry looks behind the school matron's turned back.

"Ah Severus, just who I've been looking for. Would you care for a lemon drop? No? Well that's your loss. I take it that the potion was successful?"

"Indeed," Snape nodded, "Lupin was there as a witness, their minds have not been tampered with they can testify if need be." Snape said, lying through his teeth to Dumbledore without batting an eyelid. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have I root canal I'd rather be suffering."

He swept from the room with his usual dramatic flare, cloak billowing behind him.

"That man," huffed Madam Pomfrey, as soon as Snape was out of earshot, "So stubbornly prickly. I suppose it was too much to hope that teaching would mellow him. Such constant bad temper isn't good for a person's health."

"I'd say if anything Madam, that the stress of the job has made him worse," chuckled Lupin, "Perhaps you should set out a bed and confine him here until his disposition improves?"

"Don't get cheeky with me Remus Lupin or I'll confine you here until his disposition improves," she scolded even as she smiled at him fondly.

"Hardly a threat Madam, for who could resist the allure of your sparkling company?"

"Flatterer," she accused blushing slightly.

"If I might interrupt for a moment," chuckled Dumbledore, "I just dropped by to inform you all that it has been decided Mr. Potter, Miss. Granger and Mr. Weasley, will give your testimonies in Sirius Black's privatized trial at the end of the week. If we're quite lucky Mr. Black himself will be there to testify on his own behalf." He added fixing his twinkling blue gaze on Padfoot who'd jumped back into bed with Remus and was keeping the werewolf's feet warm while being as unobtrusive and well behaved as a giant black dog could be. "Poppy, I will leave them to your tender mercies."

"Yes, yes, thank you Albus," said the nurse, waving the headmaster off carelessly, as she checked Ron's leg and made him drink some potion or another before bustling over to Harry's bedside.

"Mr. Potter, I'm glad to see you up and about, how are you feeling?"

"I'm actually starving," Harry confessed, his stomach gurgling emptily.

"I've no doubt," huffed Madam Pomfrey, "You managed to consume what little fat you have on your body with whatever it was you did to drain yourself so thoroughly. Drink this."

Wrinkling his nose in anticipation of the taste, Harry quickly knocked back the glass of green slop that tasted like wheatgrass and dirt clods.

"That's vile," he coughed.

"That will keep your magic from digesting your body down to nothing until you gain some weight back," she said, pouring another glass for Remus who drank it with his nose pinched, "You're both already far too skinny. I'll order some lunch from the kitchens. Miss. Granger," she added warningly, leaning around the doorframe of her office, "You may remain with your friends until after lunch and then I must ask you to leave them in peace. They need rest to heal."

"Yes Madam Pomfrey," agreed Hermione meekly.

Madam Pomfrey gave a satisfied nod and then bustled into her office, presumably to order lunch for her invalids.

"You and Madam Pomfrey get along pretty well, professor," Hermione commented seating herself on Harry's bed casually.

"Well she did take care of me during full moon for seven years, and lest we forget, James and Sirius, more often Sirius, were in and out of the hospital wing all the time as a result of pranks gone wrong or getting on the wrong side of Severus' hexes," Lupin explained, "And how many times must I ask you to call me Remus? After all as of today I am no longer your teacher."

"What? Really? Why?" demanded Harry, "You're the best Defence professor we've ever had!"

"Not that it was really any contest," Ron said thinking of their first two Defence teachers.

"Ah, with the trial being so publicized I was quickly exposed as a werewolf and Dumbledore was decidedly swamped with owls bearing the complaints of concerned parents. I decided to save him the trouble of having to fire me and quit, yesterday when he came to talk to Severus about the potions," Remus explained.

"It's not fair," Hermione bristled, "I outright prejudice! Professor Dumbledore has more than proven that, with the proper precautionary measures in place, you're not a danger to the staff or students."

"Yes, well, given that it has now been revealed to him that I spent my school years turning my nose up at the rules he put in place for the safety of both myself and the other students, I won't ask him to fight a losing battle on my behalf and that is the end of it," he said firmly.

There was an awkward silence that descended over the room and Harry was quick to break it.

"So Hermione, how did you get Snape to let you help with the potions?" he asked.

"Oh, well," she started a pleased flush tinting her cheeks, "With all the fuss of the trial Professor Snape wasn't able to brew continuously but the potions are delicate enough that if they're in stasis too long it ruins them. On the second day I offered to stir them and take them off the flame and yesterday he called me not entirely incompetent and let me have free reign over one of the cauldrons."

"Wow, that's high praise, coming from Snape, good work Mione," said Harry impressed.

"It was nothing," she said, but she was grinning and flushed with success even as she said it. "More importantly I've been thinking about what you told us about Warlord Princes back in the Shrieking Shack and I've been wondering why it's only really starting to affect you now? Of course we've noticed your temper getting worse over the years but that is really nothing compared to…well, what you did that night."

"It's because I'm getting older," shrugged Harry, "I don't really know how to explain it, but as the Body matures so does the Mind and the Self, the Warlord Prince in me is part of the Self as I get older and stronger and, hopefully, more mature, my instincts and powers also mature and sharpen. The reason it's slower going for me anyway is because my father was part of one of the long-lived races."

"Well it's a good thing you held out this long, mate," said Ron matter-of-factly, "It'd be bad if you went back to the Dursleys and murdered them in a fit of pique."

"Why would you do that?" asked Lupin, shocked.

"The Dursleys don't like me very much," said Harry simply, "And the feeling is mutual."

Ron snorted in disgust, "They don't feed you, they put bars on your windows, the rags you wear are worse than mine. They're one step away from outright abuse."

Harry said nothing, just glad that he'd never told Ron and Hermione where he'd slept for the first ten or so years of his life.

Lupin and Sirius were both growling low in their throats.

"Well you're not going back there anyway," said Hermione firmly, "If it turns out that you can't stay with Sirius you'll come home with Ron or I. I've been looking over Madam Pomfrey's notes and you won't get nearly enough to eat if you go back there."

"That sounds like I don't have much of a choice," said Harry arching a brow in query.

"It rather does, doesn't it?" answered Hermione with a toss of her head.

"As you wish, Lady."

"Then, will you serve?"

"I will serve," he agreed solemnly, bowing his head. Then he looked up grinned wickedly, "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

"I feel confident I can handle whatever you can dish out, Graeson SaDiablo." said Hermione.

He smiled a bit; part of what he loved about Hermione was her confidence. She dove headlong into new situations and experiences, often without a hint of fear. He wondered if she could perceive the new awareness he had of her? The moment he'd agreed to serve the Other in him had shifted and narrowed his focus. It was intense, looking at the world with a completely different set of priorities, but it felt right. It felt good.

"Here." With a wave of his hand and a bit of concentration a stack of cheap spiral ringed notebooks appeared, dropping into Hermione's lap. "Those are all my notes from my lessons with Lorn, everything I know about the Blood and Protocol are in there, you'll probably need them."

Hermione's eyes lit up like he'd told her Christmas and her birthday came twice this year and she immediately began reading the first notebook.

"How did you do that?" asked Ron, before shaking his head, "Never mind, craft, right? You know she's going to be useless until she gets done with those."

"I'll convince Madam Pomfrey to let her stay until curfew since she's not disturbing us and then we can make sure she eats and rests," said Harry, carding a hand through Hermione's curls as she unconsciously settled more comfortably against him.

* * *

**AN:** And there you have it folks! Next up the long awaited trial! I apologize for the super-long wait between updates (almost a year this time, ouch) but I still can't guarantee any regularity. It is my muse you see, she is a capricious little such and such a thing and for some reason it seems I can only write for this story when I'm not feeling well.

In any case, please take the time to review and let me know what you guys think!


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